There was a funeral in our town,
I refreshed mybest black gown,
that dear old lady was ninety three,
that sounds like a good life to me.

She lost her husband as a young bride,
a valient soldier, he was her pride.
She lived on without kith or kin,
always moving foreward, not giving in.

She taught my mother, in fifth grade,
life gave her a bill that must be paid,
always stoop down to lift your fellow man,
it's your God given duty to do ll you can.

She must have served a million bowls of soup,
knitted gloves and scarves for our troops,
gave comfort and hope to, oh so many,
when offered reward, refused any.

She knit afgans and pieced quilts,
she truely lived life to the hilt,
the line of cars will be slow and long,
listen, you can hear the angels welcoming song.