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Short-lived who is born of the womb,
Full of trouble until the tomb;
Like a flower blossom and bloom,
Then the day comes the box of doom.
A fleeting shadow not for long,
Continually right or wrong;
And having a mind of his own,
Regards his chair being his throne.
Always sinful being impure,
Where can we go to find a cure;
If the time is defined by you,
The limit that you will live through.
Look away as to cease to be,
But if he loves life he will see;
As a farmer loves to labor,
Is willing to help his neighbor.
There is hope in cutting a tree,
Sprouting of seedlings you will see;
While sprouting with some new shoots,
It will strengthen through the old roots.
If the roots grow old in the ground,
The stump will rot without a sound;
But will cause new branches to grow,
And through it the water will flow.
But men are powerless when dead,
And losing all control instead;
When a person breathes his last breath,
Then it is of a certain death.
But where is he where did he go?
Like water of the rivers flow;
A deep sleep he shall not awake,
Until called for by His name sake.
Copyright © 2013 Richard Newton Sherrer
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READY FOR THE AFTERLIFE
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