Her Words
We shuffled towards the open grave;
Our hearts were wrenched; we were not brave;
She would not speak from new-dug loam
‘Welcome to my holiday home’.
With memories of Christmas past
We prayed for grace; we prayed she’d last;
But now she will not call - please come,
‘Welcome to my holiday home’.
She had to go; she could not stay
And now we’ll never hear her say,
The words were hers and hers alone,
‘Welcome to my holiday home’.
We think of all the happy years;
Our cheeks are wet with bitter tears;
Her Christmas cheer will not be sung;
'Welcome to my holiday home'.
We look upon the opened earth;
We think of death, we think of birth;
Now one of us must sing her poem
‘Welcome to my holiday home’.
The generations fall away
But love and joy will always stay
And heaven calls her - come, now come,
‘Welcome to my holiday home’.
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