Dirt to dust: my buddy.

I see your face as you smile, when we meet.

I can hear your voice, as we chat about life walking down the street.

I can taste the lunch you have prepared for us as we sit down to chat and catch up on the previous weeks.

Speaking about daily living over lunch.

I see the way you organise your life in files ever so perfect.

The car, the house, the life insurance etc.

Today in the church we heard those words repeated.

She had a lovely smile, she always was able to cook for hte many people in your life.

How organise you were at work and home.

How all these people in the church will miss you, I hear people crying out loud.

I lean over to comfort someone, you gave a room to in your house so they can work here.

Now you sit in your sons house on the mantle piece

Where your son & grandons, other people will bid you good morning

and eat breakfast near you until you have your final resting place.

Fibre, bone skin is what we are made of

and when we die we go back to dirt, to dust.