The Soul
P Patti Masterman
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The soul's a record keeper
Each day, that we draw breath;
It isn't far away,
And it only leaves at death.
The soul's a handy helper,
Not a widget on a wall:
It files our bodies memories,
And retains them; that is all.
We will no longer need it,
When the present life is through-
Don't worry; in the next life,
A fresh one comes, with you.
Won't dissipate, like body,
In the graveyard, so forlorn:
When the body's job is finished,
The hard drive gets reborn.
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