If you were clasping a fistful of sand
And one year of life was offered to you,
Converted from each grain held in your hand,
How many years do you think you’d accrue?
Now imagine that each converted year
Is filled with unimaginable joy
Devoid of sadness, suffering and fear,
The time being yours to build or destroy.
Would you trade your short life of hit-and-miss
And doubtful heavenly eternity
For a million years of joyful bliss,
Before death, and then Hell’s dread certainty;
Its promise an endless desert of pain,
And all of time’s years’ worth less than one grain?