Cynthia Anita Thompson

When I come to the end of the road

And the sun has set for me

I want no rites in a gloom-filled room,

Why cry for a soul set free?

Miss me a little but not too long,

And not with your head bowed low,

Remember the love that we once shared.

Miss me . . . but let me go.

For this is a journey that we all must take,

And each must go alone.

It’s all a part of the master plan

A step on the road to home.

When you are lonely and sick of heart,

Go to the friends we know,

And bury your sorrow in doing good deeds,

Miss me . . . but let me go.