Through tears I looked, up the hill that day.
At the dogwood tree, and where poppa
lay.
We were married there, so many years ago.
And now my Lord, it's my time to go.
From heaven that tree, to us was sent.
Tho its branches were crooked, and its
trunk was bent.
To us we saw beauty, poppa and me.
And we would set for hours, under your
dogwood tree.
That old dogwood, was not just a tree.
It was like a person, to be judged by thee.
Where some may see sin, you will know their name.
Tho our lord died on it, the tree we can't blame.
We can't judge someone, in how they appear.
It's what they are made of, and a soul that is clear.
So Lord when you come, I know will you see,
Beneath your dogwood tree, poppa and me.
Written by Ken Ferguson
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