High Speed Train to Heaven

In general, in the year of Our Trump of 2017, modern children at age 8, are pretty much past the fairy-tale believing stage; unless of course, there is some heavy duty homey religion going on.

Grandpa's going to Jesus
That's what Auntie said,
To eight year old Jeffrey
If Grandpa gets dead,
She continued on further
Five minutes or more,
But his ears had shut down
Like a hard slamming door.

I was over in the corner
Trapped, I did feel,
It might be rude if I split
In the midst of her spiel,
Telling such a grand story
That rivalled the Brothers Grimm,
I wondered, should I clap
Or launch into a hymn?

This eight year old Jeffrey
Was wise and mature,
He seemed to understand death
Though he wasn't too sure,
If Grandpa was just resting
Would he rally in the morning?
When nothing more can be done
In of itself, that's the warning.

Jeffreys attention
Sparked brightly when I spoke,
Regarding all the machines
Without the fire and smoke,
Or the legions of angels
On the head of a pin,
I just talked about Grandpa
And the state he was in.

Maybe he'll get better?
Well, Auntie mentioned a miracle,
Indeed, that would be so
Beyond anything empirical,
Because total organ failure
Leaves little to the imagination,
Yes, his high-speed train to heaven
May have already, left the station.