Crossing the Bridge
I stood beside your bed last night, I came to have a peep.
I could see that you were crying; you found it hard to sleep.
I whinnied to you softly as you brushed away a tear,
"It's me, I haven't left you. I'm well, I'm fine, I'm here."
I was with you at my grave today; you tend it with such care.
I want to reassure you, that I'm not lying there.
I walked with you toward the house, as you fumbled for your key.
I put my head against you, nickered and said, "It's me."
You looked so very tired, and sank into a chair.
I tried so hard to let you know that I was standing there.
It's possible for me to be so near you every day.
To say to you with certainty, "I never went away."
You sat there very quietly, then smiled; I think you knew.
In the stillness of that evening, I was very close to you.
And when the time is right for you to cross the brief divide,
I'll gallop across to greet you, and we'll stand there side by side.
I have so many things to show you, there's so much for you to see.
Be patient, live your journey out...then come home to be with me.