John McCullagh July 20, 2019
Marty Bogroll

Heaven’s right ‘n sweet, I guess

In no rush to get there

Been a sinner, more or less

Maybe won’t fit in there.

Wicked still, gotta confess

Might just pine a bit there!


Heaven’s swell, preacher says

But got so used to earth here

Had such good times all the way

Frolic, fun and mirth here.

Eighty springs ago today

Since I had my birth here.


Quite a spell of happy years

Wish I could begin it

Cloud and sunshine, laughter, tears

Living every minute

Women too, the pretty dears

Plenty of ‘em in it.


Heaven! That’s another tale

Mightn’t let me chew there

Gotta have me pint of ale

Would I like the brew there?

Maybe I’d grow slack and stale

No more chores to do there.


Here I weed the garden plot

Scare the birds from pillage

Simmer in the sun a lot

Talk about the tillage.

Yarns of battles I have fought

Greybeard of the village.


Heaven’s mighty fine, I know

Still, it ain’t so bad here

See them maples all aglow

Starlings seem so glad here.

I’ll be mighty peeved to go

Scrumptious times I’ve had here.


Lord, I know You’ll understand

With Your Light You’ll lead me

Though I’m not the pious brand

I’m here when’er You need me

Gee! I know that heaven’s grand

But darn it! God, don’t speed me.

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