She calls to me from long ago;
through sunlit skies; through drifts of snow.
In clouds that dance upon the sea,
I call to her, and she to me.
So real was she. She laughed; she cried.
She loved; she lost. She lived; she died.
She hoped and dreamed; so real was she.
She lived a life that I may be.
The blood through which my veins does flow
is the same as her's from long ago.
So it will be that when I'm gone
in an unborn child it will flow on.
I'll live my life and when it's done
I'll live again in those to come.
For I'm a bridge from she to me;
from those that were, to those to be.