On a bed of clouds,
Your head shall rest.
Glide you will,
On quiet whispers.
Gently this earth shall thee hold,
Loved, embraced by more than flesh
and bones.
Despair not for what you don't see
or touch,
But know the soul is held up high.
Your body and your soul will be
held,
With dignity, love, and grace
unmatched.
For a soul without rancor or
deceit,
Might be shunned by kings and
queens.
But the maker that sees the soul,
Will not abandon a soul not marked,
And therefore pure.
With head held high
Live and love you shall.
