The Meadows Through Which My Dancing Heart Poem by Tomás Ó Cárthaigh

The meadows through which my dancing heart
Has often ambled with abondoned glee
Are now overgrown by thorns
Through which it now cannot walk free.

And a heart like mine that will not sit,
But wants to run and play and dance
Gets scratched and torn and ripped and worn
Whene'e it boldly takes the chance.

We all tend to the meadows
In which our own and others hearts play
And prune the briars with kind words
And clear through a paths way.

All you say and do cuts a swarth
In front of where it stands
Should it cuts weeds or dancing hearts
Depends upon your hands.

Swing your syth, take care
And take good aim,
Clear a pathway for a dancing heart,
Or for its death take the blame!