When I pass, God grins and winks,
sparks up a stogey, pours a stiff drink
Takes my remains, off an old, dusty shelf,
picks up His spade
God buries me Himself
No cross of ash, nor oil to anoint,
over grown plots, where the dead men point
No mothers mourn, no sense of loss,
no gospel choir, nor old rugged cross
No Janis, buried alive with the blues,
no church, no bells, no priest, nor pews
No sermon, no hymn, no stone, nor cross,
no widows in black, no veils, no loss
An old bent angel, drags my corpse to the grave,
no eulogies given, no soul to save
The Lord and angel toast one final round,
return my body to the cold, dark, ground
When I pass, God grins and winks,
sparks up a stogey, pours a stiff drink
Takes my remains off an old, dusty shelf,
picks up His spade
God will bury me himself
© Hugh Dysart
Excerpt from the book “Torn Poems”
About the Author
Hugh Dysart is a long-time musician, songwriter, poet and lyricist. Hugh has been playing blues and rock for almost fifty years and writing for fifteen. His greatest influences have always been music based, appreciating the genius of both the music and lyrics written by The Beatles, Led Zeppelin and Rolling Stones. It had has greatly influenced his writing of lyrics.
He has discovered a love of writing poetry and prose; a natural progression as a lyricist. He resides in Timmins, Ontario Canada, with his soul mate and is a father of two and a grandfather.
Visit Hugh’s Author Page At www.ctupublishinggroup.com/hugh-dysart.html
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Raja's Insight 
Reblogged this on The Lyrical Journal and commented:
an excerpt from Hugh Dysart’s wonderful book..
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