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