Obituary of Mickey Harris

Home At Last

The trees were blowing in the gentle breeze
the sun was shining; thru the leaves on the trees
The meadows are green; and the grass grows tall
off in the distance; you can see a waterfall

Over the falls; down through the creek
the water flows gently; as a rabbit sneaks a peek
Far up above; in the deep blue sky
the birds soar high; as they fly by

The animals play; at the bridge by the waterfall
chasing each other; and just having a ball
They play all day; from morning to night
there's no more rain; just warm sunlight

Off in the distance; the trumpets would blow
all would look up; and notice a bright glow
The harps would play; and the angels would sing
as another has come home; who had earned his wings

~ John Quealy