I Want To Go Home Singing

I want to go home singing
The songs of victory
With my hand in my saviors hand
Just where it ought to be
I want to hear the angels join in
My chorus of victory
And I want to go home singing
When I cross that crystal sea.

When it's time for me to go
What a victory I'll share
I'll meet my loving savior
Somewhere in the air
He will have his angel chorus
He will say "My child well done.
Welcome home to heaven
A good race you have run.

I want to go home singing
The songs of victory
With my hand in my saviors hand
Just where it ought to be
I want to hear the angels join in
My chorus of victory
And I want to go home singing
When I cross that crystal sea

I know he'll have a job for me
When I get over there
There's something else I have to do
For it seems he needs me there
Perhaps I'll sow the wildflower seed
Along a country road
But I know I'll be singing
When he lifts my heavy load.

Shed No Tears For Mama

Please shed no tears for mama
For at last she is at rest
Her hands are folded now in prayer
For she has done her best
And the smile she smiles is peaceful now
For at last she is in no pain
So shed no tears for mama now
And sing no sad refrain
Remember, if you will, the whipporwill
The flowers of golden hues
The dogwood bloom the thunder boom
The birds sond in the air
And if you must I truly trust
You'll think of her in prayer
But shed no tears for mama dears
For she is happy there

This poem reminds me of the fact my gram is gone and how the family split apart. I truly don't think gram would have liked anything that has happened since her passing.

Tattered Edges

Its tattered edges
Have come unraveled
As if to show the pain
The love the strife
And memories help me recall
The pieces that tell the story
Of my grandma's life.

The piece way up in the cornor
was from the lovely gown
She made for her wedding day
The tiny rosebud scrap
Recalls to mind the baby girl
Whom in the arms of God they lay

Several pieces tell of mommy's life
Her snowy white christening gown
The dress she wore the first day of school
Her tomboy days
When gingham was prefered to lace
And later when gingham would no longer do
And placed up in the center
As if to show their pride
A cutting from the robe she wore
On her Graduation day
And when the guns of war sounded
And the decisions were made
When one chose blue
And the other chose gray
She placed the two together
Hoping they would stand
Unlike the pride that kept her sons apart
When her time near ended
Love replaced the guilt
And North and South shook hands at last
Above my grandmas quilt.

Typing this one out has become a very emotional thing for me. I recall my gram writing this one. My mom was taking a business class and her goal was to come up with a business proposal. Crafting especially quilts is big in West Virginia. Even my great-gram who was still alive at the time quilted. My moms' idea was to open a craft store called Tattered Edges. In every part of my grams life there was a poem to go along with it. As I wrote this particular poem I heard my grams voice. I didn't think I'd be able to finish this today. My face is covered in tears. I miss my gram a great deal. It's been over 10 years since her passing and I'm not sure I'll ever be ok with her being gone.

The Arms Of God (In Memory Of Mark)

He needs no tears
They sooth their soul
But where he walks
On streets of gold
He knows no pain.

Mourn him not though he is gone
Think what he left behind
For he will live eternally
In your heart and on your mind.

He will know no suffering
He will feel no pain
There will be no sorrow
In the life way he has trod
For silently last night he slipped
Into the arms of God.

Ancestors

The old graveyard is covered with weeds
It seems that no one cares
For the hopes and dreams
Of the life and loves
Of the people lying there
There are stones weathered
By the hands of time
And off in the corner there
Is a single spot that has no stone
Whose child is buried there
Unloved or long forgotten
Displaced by the hands of time
I wonder the story she has to tell
This forgotten ancestor of mine.
My gram wrote this poem after I began to develop an intrest in genealogy. I now have family histories that points to Pocahontas as being one of my great grandmothers on my grandpas' side and on my grams side we stem from English Nobility.