The Secret Closely Guarded

Widows weep for memories
that will not keep them warm.

Children cry from injuries
of the spirit of which they are born.

In the arms of truth, sheltered
by loves' embrace; lonely is the innocent
that longs for just a taste.

The bitter smell of abstinence.
The sight of a passing chance.
Never hearing the melody or the
heat of a first slow dance.

One day two roads may call to us
asking for the right. A solitary apple
hangs waiting for a bite.

The truth that we take stock of matters little in the end,
for the secret closely guarded is the willingness to merely begin.