The language of
the heart is
not confined to
time and place
Its thoughts..
like stones in
a brook are
washed and
renewed by the
river of life..
It accepts the
cold waters of
adversity
And rejoices
in the warm
currents that
spawn new
life
Yet, ever a
mystery to
itself.. it
seeks out
its reflection
in still ponds
And speaks of
its own changing
face as the stream
of time pours
new wine in an
old winskin
The heart peers
within itself
and utters words
in its own image
Who knows but
that the changing
seasons may look
down on a lively
tongue and confound
the language of
the heart
The embryo of
that spirit
that teams with
a thousand dreams
ever seeks to
be reborn..
and if its graced
to speak anything
at all.. its
final and sacred
plea must be..
'have mercy
have mercy..'