We seldom hear the angelís wings
 Which circle overhead,
Or see their shadow growing near
 Until we join the dead.

Instead, we're blinded by Today
 And scurry to and fro
Preoccupied with vain pursuits
 To place ducks in a row.

So raise your eyes unto the skies
 Before it is too late,
Lest death should find you unprepared
 To walk through Heaven's gate.