The Soul Poem by Patti Masterman

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.