Death Poem!

Both my Uncle Dale and my Mother died this summer. It was sad to see them go. My extended family is a mixed bag when it comes to faith and religion. Although their roots are Christian, they deal with death in varied ways. After spending time with many of them before and after the separate funeral services this poem came to my attention. It seems fitting to portray their assorted sensitivities within the confines of this pithy death dialogue.

Whatcham'callit
(a Poem)

She's dead, he said.
So's he, said she.

Kicked the bucket, he said.
Bought the farm, said she.

Under the clover, he said.
Crossed over, said she.

Iced with a heater, he said.
Sleeps with the fishes, said she.

Taken for a little ride, he said.
Gone to the other side, said she.

Flat-lined, he said.
Out of mind, said she.

To a better place, he said.
By heaven's grace, said she.

Under the sod, he said.
To be with God , said she.

To Paradise? he said.
Would be nice, said she.

Could it be? he said.
Could it not? said she.

Enjoy, ron

PS. “O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?” The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. (1 Corinthians 15.53b-57)