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When the heart is first born,
it is free.
It floats on air like a butterfly,
enlivening with its beauty each tender blade of grass it touches.
It glows like a sunbeam,
warming and coloring the world with hope and love.
Some would steal the heart's
beauty. They seek to claim it as their own, locking it in their
dungeon of jealousy.
They have a cold place inside,
and hope so desperately that this bright heart can warm the chill
within their soul.
But a heart that is chained is
not free, and a heart that is not free can no longer fly.
It soon looses its light, growing
cold and hard as a stone.
Yet even in that dark place,
the heart calls forth. It sings to the summer winds.
The winds, hearing the exquisite
beauty of that song,
come and blow their warmth into that cold place.
As the heart is warmed,
its fire burns brightly again.
And by the light of that fire
the heart can see its path back to freedom and joy. |
