She in her corner.. stitching,
me in mine.. watching the rain.


Time overturned in a flower papered room,
she in her corner,
me in mine.


Is there a spark that can be rekindled?
Are the fires doused by waters of time?
She in her's,
me in mine.


The hand of time ticking loudly to an end,
a closure of sorts that painfully comes to be.
Floral prints on a wall that weep,
she in her corner.. stitching,
me in mine.. watching the rain.


The end not swiftly coming,
but through lifting haze the cloudless skies appear.
She in her corner.. stitching,
me in mine,
eyes closing for the last time,
to see her there in her corner,
I now see me.......
in mine.



~Author Michael Garland~

Music by T.J. Moir