Lost is the sheep who wanders off.
Close to the shepherd it finds safety.
His voice carries a familiar tone,
recognizable is the sound of love.
A gentle heart calls the wicked,
and willingly they change their course.
The heart longs for his sheep,
like a dry mouth longs for water,
without them he cannot survive.
His alacrity to keep them safe is immense,
the sacrifice his own free choice.
I am an observer in an open field,
and my curiosity exceeds my concerns.
Distance allows an open-minded view,
when discomfort rules a broken heart.
On which side do I belong, I wonder?
The ability to make a selfless choice,
forces the heart to lose sight of itself.
The willingness to embrace your identity,
forces the heart to let go of its thoughts.
To be is a joy to the longing soul,
a gratitude to its Maker.
Understanding nurtures knowledge,
wisdom is a blossom to the heart.
In an open field I am the observer,
watching this ever-gentle display.
The icicles melt in the sunshine,
in the view of the cherry blossoms.