My guy

There is a man up there
smiling at this day
Sunday his alone
with myriad more.

He rests with the best of them
a blade of grass caught in wrinkles
it was an easy time for him
under the dry rain.

Looking down from his throne
with the strength of the ox
he sits like a king on his domain
the work done, satisfied.

The legacy shines bright
he should be proud of the task
on the green pasture
the field of golden seeds.

The man up there says nothing
his thoughts convey it all
of pleasure and noble pride
sleeping with the angels.