Life
is a train,
In the world
of events,
It moves forward,
But the colours
still pass,
Behind my window,
Forever fleeting.
Within me,
Nothing but
ash remains,
Once a tired
golden flame,
Now lost.
All copyrights are acknowledged
and those remain the property of the owners. Also these pages contain my
opinions (unless otherwise specified), and thus, does not reflect the beliefs
of others. The Garden of the Black Rose and its related pages are copyrighted
(c)1998 by Ivy McKnight .
