Where The Good Hearts Go

I don't often know where the good heart goes.
I've a faint idea, for a distant memory,
Of a child raised in busy daylight,
Binding time in quiet tree tops,
Buried in bushes with spiders and chirps
Of birds and buzzing bees.

Children do grow, and go into themselves,
Giving way to worldly wonders and
The influence of others;
We learn, and make mistakes.

A good heart, but probably a little aloof.
If you can't find other good hearts
You might lose the idea altogether,
Spent by broken branches of change
That crack your worried mind
Through unsettling eyes of doubt
And strife.

Good hearts go to good, at least they want to.
Gravity manifested in a flight of feeling
For love and largess of the beyond
To be humble, simple, brave, and bound
By good for good's sake alone.