Her Kindly Heart

Aware of passion’s fragility…

She walks with bare feet,
the silence disturbing no one.

The wisps of her hair
flow relaxed across her cheeks.

Her hands are of gentle making,
their touch of love growing stronger.

Her eyes remain calm
through pain and sorrow,

Her smile is with child-like pleasure,
her cheeks of innocent blush.

Her voice is one of whispered wisdom,
its availability like a breeze for the taking.

She hears much of what mere mortals ignore,
enjoined by intelligence that knows only progress.

But, most of all,
she is of kind heart,
lifting wounded insects into her palm,
stepping off the porch,
setting them free to be who they are,
just as she did this heavy heart of mine,
many years ago.