(no subject)
Rest in peace, Abigail Gilda Volpe.
(Click to see the story about how Abigail was injured.)
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 a 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 old.
God knows how much we need them, and so he takes but few,
To make the land of heaven more beautiful to veiw.
Believing this is difficult, still somehow we must try.
The saddest word mankind knows will always be "goodbye".
So when a little child departs, we who are left behind.
Must realize God loves children,
And that angels are hard to find.