Nothing can or ever will outshine it,
No novel account, or theatre display,
Not even these words to do justice,
To your perfect passing day.

The stage was set, the actors there,
The director in full control,
Not a single thing was missing,
And each one knew their role.

The backward breathing clock,
Counted down as time stood still,
Alarming at the ticking hands,
Then stopped-by Gods own will.

All hands clasped; all prayers said,
And answered before thy call,
You peacefully slipped away from us,
And mortality took the fall.

The holy spirit - he lingered.
And massaged our hearts in hand.
To ease the pain of a perfect passing,
That was too perfect to understand.