I don't know where this originated but the story was passed on to me by Bill Barwick yesterday. I spent a little time fleshing out some details and turned the story into this poem.
The Funeral
They gathered in the grave yard
on a flat Nebraska plain
and the preacher just kept talking
despite the threat of rain.
Ralph stood there,looking skyward,
as tears slipped from his eye.
The grand-kids all stood silent.
Then lightening split the sky
and a massive clap of thunder
shook the very air
Ralph smiled and told the preacher,
“It sure sounds like she’s there.”
Jeff Hildebrandt copyright 1/17/11
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