How can a thing so small, hold so much within itself?
If memories were solid things, I would need a wondrous shelf.
How can a thing within my breast, cause me so much pain...
There are times at night, when stars are bright, that I feel as if I’m slain.

Sometimes it’s cold, sometimes it’s hot, sometimes it just feels dead...
I guess somehow, it is connected, to things within my head.
A vessel of sweet memories, a Pandora’s box at times...
But memories of, your soft sweet touch, can make it sing like chimes.

How can a thing so small, feel so heavy late at night...
When the wind is blowing softly, and stars are dancing bright.
How can a heart, that you loved so, feel so lost and all alone...
At times it rains within this heart, but my love is always home.

I wonder if your heart’s like mine, does it talk to you at night...
Does it burn and make your eyes grow wet, do you wonder if you were right.
Do you wish upon that heart so small, that you could turn the hands of time...
And feel it beat in rhythm close, to a heart that’s just like mine.
 

Ron Walker October 1998
 

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