Heart Song

Faye Powell
The Portland Upside
February 2010

Photo by Faye Powell

There is a language of the heart,
Bequeathed to us with our very first breath,
Breathed into us with our very first cry,
Possessed by us through a mother’s kiss
and a father’s smile.

There is a language of the heart
Soft as a breeze against our cheek,
Gentle, quiet as a baby’s dream,
That knows no chains of hate or fear.

Light as cherry blossoms on an April morn,
Sweet as a lover’s sigh just before dawn,
Our native tongue, our first heart song,
Leads us back to our own true home.

_____

Faye Powell is a retired librarian who writes fiction, nonfiction and, occasionally, poetry. She can be reached at phaysee1@gmail.com