The wheel of time must turn around though slow;
Our palate must be curbed, also our tongue;
Some things we fear, we sometime undergo;
None can remain forever always young.
The curses of the poor and innocent
Will boomerang like arrows back to bow;
The mansion will some day become a tent;
To condescend we learn, no other go.
Repent, we must on earth before our death;
The sins of yester-years will haunt like ghosts;
Like re-charged batteries, we must save our breath
Before we leave for good, our earthly posts.
All men are mortal, yet given a soul;
Heaven or hell will be our final goal.