Dear daughter of mine,
  Please don't cry! Please don't ask why.
For I have gone to heaven to plat my banjo. For the great Bill Monroe.
It will be not a song of sorrow that I play tomorrow.
For I will play on the stage with a lady named Patty Page.
I will not play to bitter, but with the great Tex Ritter.
So the music you hear in the sky will not make you cry.
For God only wants me to play my banjo.
  Love,
      Your dear old dad.