My Heart

My Heart--calls me softly sometimes
Like a dove on a summer day.
On the edge of memory she sits
And beckons me to play.

To soothe her gypsy soul,
With a song or two and then
Open the door to the gilded cage
And let her see beyond the bend.

At times she flies towards heaven--
But gets caught in a bitter wind
And then she flutters near the earth
Thinking it better to pretend,

That she and I are separate--
Two birds, two lives, two songs
And yet I know the untold truth
She’s not where she belongs.

--C. H. Green @2007