At the risk of being offensive to the author, but remembering that if you are going to read this aloud it needs to scan perfectly:
I hope there's a place, way up in the sky,
Where pilots can go, when they have to die -
A place where a guy can buy a cold beer
For a friend and a comrade, whose memory is dear;
A place where no doctor or lawyer can tread,
Nor management type would ere be caught dead;
Just a quaint little place, dark and hinting of smoke,
Where they like to sing loud, and love a good joke;
The kind of a place where a lady could go
And feel safe and protected, by men she would know.
There must be a place where old pilots go,
When their planning is finished, and their airspeed gets low,
Where the whiskey is old, and the women are young,
And the songs about flying and dying are sung,
Where you'd see all the fellows who'd flown west before.
And they'd call out your name, as you came through the door;
Who would buy you a drink if your thirst should be bad,
And relate to the others, "He was quite a good lad!"
And then through the mist, you'd spot an old guy
You had not seen for years, though he taught you to fly.
He'd nod his old head, and grin ear to ear,
And say, "Welcome, my son, I'm pleased that you're here.
"For this is the place where the true flyers come,
"When the journey is over, and the war has been won
"They've come here at last to be safe and alone
From the government clerk and the management clone,
"Politicians and lawyers, the Feds and the noise.
Where the hours are all happy, and these good ol'boys
"Can relax with a cool one, and a well-deserved rest;
"This is Heaven, my son -- you've passed your last test!"
You might also try "Jonathan Livingston Seagull" by Richard Bach, for some appropriate prose.
Whatever you choose, remember your father as he deserves to be remembered. We all only live once.
yours
Sven