It was a beautiful Sunday morning.
The espresso machine was crankin out the magic java and Wendy was making a fritatta.
The Gapastiones were preparing for some guests.
The gnome at the door held a post it note that said, "Come on in and
don't make sound, we don't want the baby to cry."
Little did we know this would be the day our beloved gnome would die.
Everyone arrived with smiles and fun banter,
but no one could have forshadowed the events that happened after.
When our time had come to a close, we said our goodbyes,
and ushered our friends back out through the door.
With a crash and a bang,
and someone shouting, "Oh Dang,"
Our morning came to a halt.
"Oh no, I'm so sorry. I didn't even see him there."
Sigh. I"t's OK."
I see how this could happen.
He's so small, so small and so fragile, (and I even thought he was wooden).
His death came by a huge leather purse
and now his body is carried off by a wee- little hearse.
One swift swing to his dome-
did in our poor friend the gnome.
So, Goodbye forever Mr. Broom-holding, hobbit-looking thing.
May you rejoice as you hear all the angels sing in the presence of our almighty king.
One last thing I'd like to say.
You brought us such joy, as we proudly displayed you in our garage.