A funeral is always a saddening thing,
For everybody is somebody to someone.
But some funeral scenes chill you to the bone
And one day in our town we had one.
A very young mother had died;
Something that you just don't expect.
And the shops and stores had all closed their doors;
They did it out of love and respect.
And in the crowded funeral home that day,
With everyone present weeping,
The sound of a little girl's voice was heard.
She said, "That's my mommie, she's sleeping."
Then I heard the sound of her little feet, "tap, tap, tap,"
As she made her way down the aisle.
Her little purse dangled from her tiny wrist
and it brushed her best Sunday dress,
And she boldly asserted the confidence
That little folks like her possess.
To the life that has no final chapter
There's no ending and no last mile.
The preacher and the rest were petrified,
But on the little girl's face was a smile.
She said, "Wake up, Mommie, wake up."
And still not satisfied she reached out with her little hand
And touched her face and cried.
Then the broken hearted daddy spoke
With a gentleness and with power,
And the words that issued from his lips
Was the sermon for the hour.
In a child like faith he told her
That the dead in Christ will rise
"God gave us his word," he said,
"And we know he never lies.
We can't wake up our sleeping Mommie,
But we know someone who can.
Baby, only God can wake up Mommie.
Let's go home and leave her in his hands."
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 5:03 AM UTC
A funeral is always a saddening thing,
For everybody is somebody to someone.
But some funeral scenes chill you to the bone
And one day in our town we had one.
A very young mother had died;
Something that you just don't expect.
And the shops and stores had all closed their doors;
They did it out of love and respect.
And in the crowded funeral home that day,
With everyone present weeping,
The sound of a little girl's voice was heard.
She said, "That's my mommie, she's sleeping."
Then I heard the sound of her little feet, "tap, tap, tap,"
As she made her way down the aisle.
Her little purse dangled from her tiny wrist
and it brushed her best Sunday dress,
And she boldly asserted the confidence
That little folks like her possess.
To the life that has no final chapter
There's no ending and no last mile.
The preacher and the rest were petrified,
But on the little girl's face was a smile.
She said, "Wake up, Mommie, wake up."
And still not satisfied she reached out with her little hand
And touched her face and cried.
Then the broken hearted daddy spoke
With a gentleness and with power,
And the words that issued from his lips
Was the sermon for the hour.
In a child like faith he told her
That the dead in Christ will rise
"God gave us his word," he said,
"And we know he never lies.
We can't wake up our sleeping Mommie,
But we know someone who can.
Baby, only God can wake up Mommie.
Let's go home and leave her in his hands."
I'm not a religious person, but that doesn't change my opinion towards this poem, and my desire to share it with the world.
Request permission to use this poem