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Robert W Service - Grandad
Work rating: Low

Heaven`s mighty sweet, I guess;
Ain`t no rush to git there:
Been a sinner, more or less;
Maybe wouldn`t fit there.
Wicked still, bound to confess;
Might jest pine a bit there.

Heaven`s swell, the preachers say:
Got so used to earth here;
Had such good times all the way,
Frolic, fun and mirth here;
Eighty Springs ago to-day,
Since I had my birth here.

Quite a spell of happy years.
Wish I could begin it;
Cloud and sunshine, laughter, tears,
Livin` 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 pot of ale;
Would I like the brew there?
Maybe I`d get slack and stale -
No more chores to do there.

Here I weed the garden plot,
Scare the crows from pillage;
Simmer in the sun a lot,
Talk about the tillage.
Yarn 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 You need me.
Gosh! I know that HEAVEN`S GRAND,
But dang it! God, don`t speed me.
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