At conception, sands of time flow at birth
through the hourglass, though we can't perceive.
Mortality's grain tolls louder on Earth,
just or not, through finite time we receive.

Some people lose their lives before their prime;
others, dedicate their lives for others.
A few fear-cloaked, squander good use of time;
a precious few live life without a bother.

Carried to Heaven upon eagle's wing,
some only want to leave their footprints;
as Heaven's gate opens and angels sing.
A worried few hope to dash in sly sprint...

I hope my footprints fossilize in clay;
pleasing God... Found to be needed one day.