The angels had been sleeping, No one was due to die. A bomber loosed his madness, They woke to children's cry. Down they flew to gather, Souls for Heaven's fold. Taken from torn bodies, With hearts as pure as gold. Gone to their reward, Eighty years too soon. Always, young remembered, We sing their funeral tune. The angels mourn in Heaven, They try, but cannot sleep. Still they hear the crying, Of those below who weep. 4.25.95 Copyright 2007