In The Garden Of Souls

In a world where all is borrowed,

And time like elusive dust seems to

Just slip through our fingers,

All we realy have are these precious moments

Where we can make fertile the soil

In the garden of our hearts,

That love may make its home

And here the mortal seed may flourish.

Only love can free us from the womb of time

For life... like a magnificent mysterious cloud holds

Its shape and from only long enough for us to blinks,

And all our precious memmories are but shadows of

Time that will drift away like fallen returning

To the emptiness from which they came.

Thus we are, like innocent children flowering

In the garden of souls