Passing On Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

Of all the things men contemplate
one is extremely odd,
arriving at the Pearly Gate,
we make our peace with God.

We carry on our lifeless backs,
huge rucksacks of past deeds,
we leave strange footprints on the tracks
and trample all the weeds.

I am an aging optimist,
Luck is my middle name,
when God goes down the sinners' list
he'll ask me why I came.

I'll say 'Dear God, I made this trip
to offer you my skills,
like Noah, I can build a ship
with all the modern frills.

Should you decide to leave this place
you will be safe with me.
I thank thee for your holy grace.
Now can I have my key? '