When God calls little children

To dwell with Him above,

We mortals sometimes question

The wisdom of his love.

For no heartache compares with

The death of one small child

Who does so much to make our world

Seem wonderful and mild.

Perhaps God tires of calling

The aged to his fold,

So he picks a rosebud

Before it can grow hold.

God knows how much we need them,

And so he takes but few

To make the land of heaven

More beautiful to view.

Believing this difficult

Still somehow we must try

The saddest word mankind knows

Will always be "Goodbye."

So when a little child departs,

We who a left behind

Must realize God loves children,

Angels a hard to find.

(Author Unknown)


 This poem was chosen by Cody's Aunt Barbara