He was with us from the start,

Now he is close to our hearts.

Although his death still tears us apart,

about this situation we need to be smart.

Although my Grandpa died, sick and ill,

He’ll make it to Heaven,

We know he will.

He was always there for us.

Him, we knew we could always trust

But, nonetheless, he will be missed,

So, on his head and necklace and vials of ash, I plant a kiss.

His goodbye was somber and sweet, but he will be missed.

We know, we know, we know, he will

Go up that heavenly Hill 

to the Gates of Heaven, through them, 

and into the Waiting arms of Jesus, 

where he and Peanut will be safe.

And maybe up on Earth, in our sorrows we won’t wallow.

He will be missed, most definitely so,

But the great hands of lung cancer, the bully, pulled him below.

He still overcame its deadly grasp.

A rope we threw him, and he stayed up for awhile 

before Cancer gathered his mighty strength,

and pulled what was dear to us 

into the clear, murky depths of Heaven.