Service of Song
At His Feet shall we meet
Where we shall part no more
So they sang at his wake
His corpse now at stake
In a box he was placed
Floral displays, music in aura
Lay he like a dead wood
Where goes his six-footer bed
Sunk face, dried lips; like a peg
Lays there dried, no wine keg
Connoisseur of best wine gone
They sang, ate, drank, aside you
Will they come your gate, this dawn
To pick from your morning dews
Or to sink in our morning mews
But goodbye, dad, we bade you
At His Feet shall we meet
Where we shall part no more
So they sang at his wake
This song, they sang in tune
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