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This wouldn't work as a song. I wrote it early this morning while thinking about my friend's funeral last Friday. It is a poem that doesn't have much rhyme. I hope it paints a accurate picture of his funeral through my eyes.

                           Farewell You
Here I am  sitting on  a wooden pew .
Here my  friend on a Friday afternoon just for you.
This time  in a church inside a wicker coffin lies you..
Church full to overflowing..
Quietly the funeral director squeezes in late arrivals..
Mourners not a good word for you.
A better word  for you those here to celebrate.
Why not you had a good life.
At the appointed time with the family comfortably seated your only child a grown up son gives the minister a silent nod.
The organist stops playing.
A white robed minister.
looking solemn stands at his pulpit.
He looks a little bit out of place
His space infiltrated by people not usually  part of this place.
People with wet eyes.
Bowed heads in diginified  mourning.
Digging deep some pulling out friendly  smiles.
In a pregnant silence my mind see's a picture of you.
laughing and joking.
It was  just two weeks ago the last time we spoke.
You were enjoying the simple things in life,
With a wit sharpe as a knife, never short of a joke.
Your contagious  generous spirit overflowing.
Not even your heart  in a bad shape could wipe that away.
Your zest for life apparent  each day.
Trying to stop my mind from drifting.
I  focus on the minister's welcome and prayer.
I can feel your spirit  in my mind.
Fighting the desire to turn back time.
My mind returns to this place with stainglass windows..
Now with everyone standing we sing.
 Accompanied by a struggling church organ. 
The hymn Jerusalem is sung from another land.
Only five years previouse you and your wife had visited that place where those feet in ancient times walked upon Englands  mountains green:
Maybe now you are looking down on me while talking  to your ansestors about  Englands pastures you had seen.
My mind wonders how would your Irish, Welsh and Scottish family along with your  Jewish ansestory hear this hymn.
The music comes to a halt.
My backside falls down onto a wooden pew.
Your oldest sister's, time to talk.
She tells us about your growing  years.
I remember us talking about them years, over  beers.
You and I  laughed alot about our  mischievous years..
My mind ticks over as she speaks.
Thinking about your life at its lowest and  highest peaks.
Your sister's words filling my mind like time lapse photography..
Installing remembered stories into us, chapters of  your growing years.
I can't help thinking as she sits down.
It should be appropriate to give huge cheers.  
Applause as a way of thanks for those good years.
Your son and wife takes over sharing with us more insights into your life.
When the Church bursts into laughter.
In my mind I hear your hearty laugh ..
Your cheeky smile comes to mind.
Your  way of making hard work fun.
You made the most of your time.
You wanted lots of laughter here and that is what you got.
You were never a man to stay sad or to ask for a lot.
Your younger brother and one neice honour you
With a  couple of quick funny stories about you.
That's what everyone  loved about you, laughter.
The minister asks us  for a moment to quietly reflect about you.
In my mind I can see you in silence at a beach.
Realing in your fishing line.
Catching fresh fish for a table surrounded by laughter.
Table made for love of life.
Table made for good stories.
I pray in my mind that your quiet faith has delivered your soul to the right place.
After a few quiet moments,
The minister leads us in The lords Prayer.
Our Father, which art in heaven,
Hallowed be thy Name.
The atheist sitting next me has an epiphany.
''First  time that prayer has made sense,'' he quiely whispers to me..
Your casket is then carried from the church.
Through the church sound system we hear the Byrds.
To everything, turn, turn, turn.
There is a season, turn, turn, turn.
And a time to every purpose under heaven.