My heart is torn from my breast.

It has left its home
to soar on the winds
that play among the hills
of my adopted home.

Somewhere in the hidden valleys;

Where the sky paints its potraits
with wandering clouds;

Where springs burst forth
white and pure;

And all the magic still left in this world
lie curled asleep;
waiting to be awakened
by a heart borne on the reckless wind.