The chosen

Our lives would be,

Full of glee,

If we had humanity,

When this life we leave,

We all will hope to see,

Angels to greet thee.

They live way up beyond

The cloud,

Playing harps so loud.

Sweet music will erupt,

As they meet us up above.

Angels are all seeing,

They see to our well-being.

They’ll know when you arrive,

They’ll be sitting at your side.

It will not matter if you’re old

Or young,

You’ll know you are their

Chosen one.

By Rita Joel