e 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.