Time is but a river flowing from our past.
Life is but the shipwreck of our plans.
If I told you about her, what would I say?
That they lived happily ever after?
I bilieve they did.
That they were in love? That they remained in love.
I'm sure that's true.
But when I think of her, of Elisa...
The only thing that comes to mind is a poem.
Whispered by someone in love, hundreds of years ago...
Unable to perceive the shape of you....