I’ve been waiting a long time to get to heaven
In fact, since nineteen hundred and thirty seven.
It is now two thousand and double “O” seven,
A wonderful stretch of ten times seven
To keep me waiting for the invite to heaven.
I’ve told you all not to cry at my funeral
Because I’m not one who’s fond of bereavin’
And mostly not one who’s going to fuss about leavin’
Since I have been waiting so long to get to heaven,
It’s too late to cry about things and beefin'
This is the time when the barns have swallowed the harvest,
The artists have put the pumpkins to the carving test,
The turkeys are sure that they are approaching their oven test,
The chickens are scurrying to hide behind their feathered nest,
Mothers and Fathers will visit the child who cooks the best
And I’m thanking God that I’m still waiting for my eternal rest.
We all know that shortly Jesus is coming,
The two doves are a cooing
The three French hens are clucking
The four calling birds are calling
The five golden rings are blinging
The six geese are a-laying
The seven swans are singing (hmmm?)
The eight maids are a – milking
The nine ladies are a-dancing
The ten Lords are aerobically leaping
The eleven pipers are hotly piping
The twelve drummers are already drumming,
I am to Midnight Mass a-going
Because I don’t live where it is a-snowing
And I am happily one more year a-closing.
You have heard me time and time again say,
I am not afraid of your taking me by the hand,
For that last and glorious walk along San Diego’s sand.
I know that when you do that, I will recognize the way,
I will rejoice that you are taking me to the eternal day.
Lord, you give us November, month number eleven
To remind us of those you’ve already taken to heaven.
You do it to remind us that all beginnings start with an end.
You do it to remind us what we will find around the bend.
You do it to remind us that our funeral is a beginning, not an end.
At my funeral, no Kleenex required. Especially since I am a pure cotton handkerchief kind of guy.