In a world where all is borrowed,
and time like elusive dust seems to
just slip through our fingers,
all we really have are these precious moments
where we can make fertile the soil
in the garden of our hearts,
that here 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 form only long enough for us to blink,
and all our precious memories are but shadows of
time that will drift away like fallen leaves returning
to the emptiness from which they came.
Thus we are, like innocent children flowering
in the garden of souls.