I was standing on a hillside
In a field of blowing wheat,
And the spirit of a Shepherd
Was lying at my feet.

She looked at me with kind dark eyes,
Ancient wisdom shining through.
In the essence of her being,
I saw the love there too.

Her mind did lock upon my heart
As I stood there on that day,
And she told me of this story
About a place so far away.

As I stood upon that hillside
In a field of blowing wheat,
In a twinkling of a second
Her spirit left my feet.

Her tale did put my heart at ease,
All my fears did fade away
About what lay ahead of me
On another distant day.

"I live among God's creatures now
In the heavens of your mind,
So do not grieve for me, my friend
As I am with my kind.

My collar is a rainbow's hue,
My leash is a shooting star.
My boundaries are the Milky Way
Where I sparkle from afar.

There are no pens or kennels here
For I am not confined,
But I'm free to roam God's heavens
Among the Shepherd kind.

I nap the day on a snowy cloud
Gentle breezes rocking me,
And dream the dreams of earthlings,
And how it used to be.

The trees are full of liver treats,
And tennis balls abound,
And milkbones line the walkways
Just waiting to be found.

There even is a ring set up,
The grass all lush and green;
And everyone who gaits around
Becomes the Best of Breed.

For we're all winners in this place;
We have no faults, you see.
And God passes out those ribbons
To each one, even me.

I drink from waters laced with gold,
My world a beauty to behold;
And wise old dogs do form my pride
To amble at my very side.

At night I sleep in angel's arms,
Her wings protecting me,
And moonbeams dance about us
As stardust falls on thee.

So when your life on earth is spent
And you stand at Heaven's gate,
Have no fear of loneliness--
For here, you know, I wait."

Author Unknown

"Do not stand at my grave and weep.

I am not there.
I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glint on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn’s rain,
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush,
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry.
I am not there.
I did not die."

Lyrics by Mary Frye (1932)

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