by Barbara Ann Bishop
Sunday, January 13, 2002
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The world to me was suddenly black,
As trhough the tunnel, my soul did rush.
The cold black hands of death did attack,
My chance to cross over, they hoped to crush.
The faster I traveled, the panic set in,
Until a bright light up ahead I did see.
If I go to the light, I am sure to get in.
When I opened my eyes, there's an emerald tree,
And also a river that is the color of glass,
Above the river is a bridge of gold.
The man in white would not let me pass.
The urge to cross over, did make me so bold.
With longing to cross over, my attempts were three.
With each attempt, He replied, "No, Not yet."
"It will be your mission to tell of me!"
So long to this strange place I have left.