Dreaming
by Denny Lancaster
251222

The music stopped its joyful cry,
when death did not pass me by
and blackness covered my coffin,
no more time to say not often,
as the horseless man would die.

Buried deep within the black earth,
not even a muffled song of mirth,
while we blinked but could not see,
the last shovel full placed on me
and not a grain of sand our worth.

Then we felt an outstretched hand,
we traveled into the promised land
and saw a host of Angels who sing,
with them children which they bring,
led by a rootin', tootin brass band.

All we could do was jump and bow,
with no more frowns or wrinkled brow,
as we tried to keep in step with the band,
traveling all across the promised land,
The alarm rang, from bed I sprang.

Footnote: Miss American Pie By Don McLean, left an impact on my generation.  The lyrics run through my old mind even now, upon occasion and form the basis for my poem Dreaming, along with a fond remembrance's of attending funerals in New Orleans and the joy of the occasion, rather than sadness.

After hurricane's Katrina and Rita in 2004-2005 demolished New Orleans, I pray that in my remaining life, a return to this proud city of music and joy will be completed.

The image "Billy Versus Stain" is used with permission from from Metal and Magic and is copyrighted.

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