When the angels come
to escort me
please let them all be
strapping chaps;
with not a tear among them
or a mournful tune of harps.
I want a band of birthday suits
and shiny polished pecs!
Don’t send old and grumpy Gabriel
to sing Abide With Me;
I’d far and rather hear
the Righteous sound of Fred,
singing I’m too sexy for my hearse.
©Cindy Taylor 2008


17 Comments Add yours

  1. EverMe says:


  2. colonialist says:

    Way to go! Greeted by, ‘C’mon, move it now, or we’ll be late for the party!’

    1. colonialist says:

      Oh, I hate this non-edit thing! *pleads* Please delete that surplus ‘t’!

  3. granny1947 says:

    And the devil says “oh hell…here she comes”
    Oh no…that is me!

  4. rosa robinson says:

    You must have written this just for me………..xx

  5. Brad says:

    Fantabulous! Good and proper poetry in every sense.

  6. supagran says:

    That’s the way to go! 🙂

  7. slpmartin says:

    Oh…now that got me laughing out loud…it reminded me of the funerals in New Orleans in my country…since we must all go…we should have a choice of angels at least…very witty poem.

  8. halfp1nt says:

    Just the way I want to go!

  9. adeeyoyo says:

    Count me in too, Cin!!!

  10. MissChris says:

    Promise me one thing – if I die before you, will you please recite this at my sending off party (no funeral – you buggers have to party up a storm!!)?

  11. This is cool, I like the angels with shiny pecs and birthday suits. I like the vivid imagry, nice. thanks

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