Consider our living: man dies of it;

And no one can fathom the why's of it;

A sigh for our birth,

A sigh for our death,

And that about sums up the size of it.

Whenever I survey our planet,

I ask of the sky, "who began it?

With earthquakes galore,

And nations at war—

Did somebody actually plan it?"

The wages of sin, as some claim—

St. Paul, if you wish for his name—

Is death. I agree,

But a thought troubles me:

Aren't the wages of virtue the same?

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