Do you ever stop to think, just where do whispers go?
Can you wish to get them back, i'd really love to know.
Whispers; like a candle's flame, burned down to the end,
Like the wick; old and fragile now, not to be lit again.
Holidays, seasons, birthdays, that have long ago passed,
Do you ever stop to really think, which one might be our last?
All the things we oversee, as life just passes on by.
Until the day we are called by a whisper from the sky.
Our grief of loss intensified, as soon though, he will be at rest.
Do you have faith that our Lord God, only whispers to the best?