At Heaven's Gate

The littlest angel was on a heavenly mission,
He sailed by the harpists and every musician.
His little wings shook and his tummy was quivery,
Because The Master had said "It's a Special Delivery…"
He flew over the rainbow and zoomed by the sun,
To a grassy, green meadow, his deed almost done.
And there on a hill, amongst the shimmer of shamrocks,
Stood The Master's most royal, golden mailbox.
A flag of red rubies stood straight and tall,
Reminding the angel that he was so small.
And though he was small, he knew he'd not fail,
To retrieve The Master's Sacred Mail.
He prayed for faith, to run with assurance,
He prayed for strength, to have the endurance,
To accomplish this deed, to make it official,
To collect his Master's Holy Epistle.
With all his might, he turned down the flag,
And opened the lid, he must not lag.
Now, he must hurry, and not contemplate,
The Master was waiting at Heaven's gate!
He quickly flew back on his heavenly trail,
A courier of the Most High detail.
And there at the gate, he brought the petition,
"Mr. Steve Zimmerman, one full admission."
There stood Steve, with a mustache-framed grin,
And The Master bade him "Friend, come on in!"
The angels in Heaven began to applaud,
And the little one wept, he just was so awed!
But alas, this world is now so much dimmer than
When we beheld our sweet Steve Zimmerman!

Written in memory of Steve Zimmerman,
February 11, 2002