My Journey Poem by Owain Glyn

When I've gone, do not shed tears,
Bend not your heads with grief,
This journey I must make alone,
I hope it might be brief.
However that's unlikely,
With my body having burned,
But never count on anything,
That's something that I've learned.

When I was young and carefree,
And time stretched out ahead,
I thought that it was endless,
But suddenly I'm dead.
My body couldn't take the strain,
It wasn't well maintained,
I might have had it serviced,
Had anyone explained.

So, I'm off to find St. Peter,
The keeper of the gate,
I guess he'll be expecting me,
Now that I am 'late',
I'm hoping he will welcome me,
With wide celestial arms,
Impressed by my devotion,
And my knowledge of two psalms.

I'd rather go to heaven,
I'm not happy in the heat,
And I think wings would flatter me,
Small silver ones are sweet.
Although I'm not too musical,
I'll learn to play the Harp,
Then I can serenade St. Pete,
With Hymns in A flat sharp.

So, as I've said, don't cry for me,
Don't miss me, do not pine,
For those of you that know me,
Understand...... I'll be just fine.
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