a Blue stone.

Pass the train, on my way, with a heart full of confidence.

There she is, the little girl, all the way from Spain.

Her hair in braids, one on each side, brown was the color.

Potato colored skin, soft and delicate, time will tell.

Eyes that glow, open the whole room, many souls have lived.

On and on, the years past, now the girl is dead.

Her Soul will live on through her Garden of Life.