I was going to her funeral,
An old friend had passed away;
A neighbor and a volunteer
She would have loved the sun today.
I nodded at the others
There were many there I knew;
I met some of her relatives
Then I headed for the pew.
I looked around for programs
With prayers and hymns and poems,
Then I saw a lady holding something
She was standing all alone.
As each mourner came to see her
She smiled and handed us a card,
I looked at mine and smiled,
Then I had to blink real hard.
No poem or prayer, was written there
But we were all the lucky ones,
It was a treasure for each one of us,
The recipe for her cinnamon buns.
