Thursday 25 February 2010 photo 1/1
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Children who die are not really gone,
But go to a place that is something like home,
Where they sleep the deep sleep, as quiet as stone,
Until we can join them when our lives are done.
Children who die are not really dead but just like children tucked into bed, wait the long wait while we go ahead till our tales are told and tears are shed.
Children who die feel no pleasure or pain in the place where they wait till we meet again, and all of us dance in a world washed with rain,
Where the sun shines so brightly no sorrows remain.
But go to a place that is something like home,
Where they sleep the deep sleep, as quiet as stone,
Until we can join them when our lives are done.
Children who die are not really dead but just like children tucked into bed, wait the long wait while we go ahead till our tales are told and tears are shed.
Children who die feel no pleasure or pain in the place where they wait till we meet again, and all of us dance in a world washed with rain,
Where the sun shines so brightly no sorrows remain.
Annons