TAXI.com

No Body is HomeThey took long walks ev'ry Sundaydown the piney path from their shackshe'd find his shoulder while goingand he'd find hers comin' backbut church always left them cheerfulthey never cursed their aging bonescos their journey through the Good Bookshowed them that no body is homehe left her on that porchswingto fill their pitcher of teathen he found her staring skywardat a mansion he couldn't seecos a fragile shell had openedand newborn wings had flownand in that dark and lonely hourhe saw that no body is homeO he looked at her one last timein her bow and Sunday besthis trembling hand brushed her cheekthen laid upon her chestcos they say home is where the heart isbut no...that's not really truethese bones are but a tent fora trav'ler that's passing throughhe leaned upon the Good Lord's shoulderas he walked that path alonebut his shack didn't feel so emptycos he knew that no body is homeno body is homeno body is home...(c)2006 Robert George