If ever there was such a soft thing
as a heart
that beat in my chest
it has long since fled
to the woods.
It plays with the newborn buds
and dew drops.
It flits and flies with the
chickadees, sparrows,
ravens and hawks.
Keeping pace with the squirrels
it races up and down tree trunks
and flings itself from branch to branch
It is in the rings a raindrop makes
in puddles and lakes
It plucks the strings of spider webs
And finally rests in a mossy bed
lulled to sleep
By whispering pines, rustling leaves
and twinkling stars.