I have family and friends that enjoy going to yard sales so I wrote this poem about Heaven being a Yard Sale. Dan
At death, the mind’s a frozen lake but then the ice melts,
giant lilies pop up, and you walk on them,
your sandals scattering shiny green angels.
On the other side, they’re all calling you,
Telling you to hurry from underneath
a Big Top labeled “Yard Sale.”
There’s Saint Peter in huge stripes
shouting about a sale on mirrors.
Then you spend hours, or is it eons,
walking by tables of padlocks, fly swatters,
shirts good as new, and look!
Clouds are wrapped in bright yellow ribbons and hurry,
the fireworks start at closing time.