At the precipice of eternity there was a wandering meadow. 

Though serene and placid, somehow unattainable.  

The vast distance I see, a settling conviction. 

Life’s token required; the balance unpaid. 

Wrinkled and scarred, how encumbered the cost. 

The choices were ours, and now almost lost. 

Lintels and doorposts, do you know of the towers?  

Have you carefully counted, and weighed out each measure? 

A tear for each penny, a year for each slice, 

Our life is required, the fulfillment of price. 

“He that forsaketh not all that he hath, cannot be my disciple.”

– Luke 14:33