Walk Gently With My Heart

I hold in my hands and heart
Something so precious
Yet in some ways so common
One might take no more
Notice of it
Than a sparrow flying by.
And here it is again,
Another morning
When I wake from sleep
Feeling myself
In a great forest,
Walking amongst
The ancient trees,
Hearing no sound
And sensing the movement
Of no living thing
Except myself
And the trees.
So I stand
In that quiet,
Tendering the precious thing,
Anxious that some
Clumsy move
Arising from my
Ineptness,
Might spill
From out my heart and hand
What is most dear.
So I walk gently
Among the silent trees.

Copyright ©2005 Tony Crisp