There's a stop off point we are brought when we die,
And we're taken there by noble men,
After our loved ones get so say their goodbyes,
We begin our last journey with them.

In a dignified manner, they wheel us away,
And with quiet respect, they prepare,
Gently into a room with our bodies they lay,
Make us look like our lives are still there.

Such a hush will descend on this room for a while,
As those bearers of clothes dress us up,
With respect in their hearts and professional grace,
The rose cottage becomes our final stop.


                               (c) eileen mcgreevy  2010