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