The Colonel had a troubled time wandering on the gray gardens, where solitude gives birth to many little regrets wrapped with a fog of uncertainties, making the go as heavy as trying to run through quicksands.
Then, the colonel heard the voice...

My dear Southern Belle,


Lost I was, disoriented perhaps I went,
the fog was dense and I couldn’t see,
the walking silence was like my shadow
but I hear thy voice that was calling me.
Oh God! I heard myself asking aloud,
You can, that in so many battles spared me,
show that old path that is going home, so,
I will be with her and my heart can heal.

I crossed so many gray gardens and yet,
the yearning for her flowers inside all of me,
a rainbow of a passing sun through my tears
falling on the roses trying its sorrow to conceal;
I knew that you where waiting but I was lost,
my way couldn’t I find out of this shadow here,
with my eyes so full of unforgettable gray ashes,
it was there, where you were, that I couldn’t see.

Hearing your voice coming from it, our river,
through the dense fog wandering around I will,
until the sun warms up and dry so many drops
that it will be grass and not mud under my feet;
and the burning on my heart for your tender love
to set ablaze all my gray gardens should it be,
and from that barren and smoldering black earth
your hands will be planting stronger and new seeds.

I am coming, already from gardenias and magnolias
the smell of their perfume coming near I can feel,
and the murmur of a river that hold all of our secrets
and the echoes of your words making life so sweet;
already in my mind my head reposing on your lap
is more than any wandering and lost man can wish,
caresses by the river and a tender solitude of two,
is the fabric that love uses to make a quilt of dreams.

Your Colonel