But then there are secrets
At least one with each of us
Cries that inside incarceration
Kindred by its bearer
Yearning, longing on tenterhooks of hope
And peeping out in dark of
Rusty spoiled outhouse that has store
Dark and Solitary
Too much thou have suffered
Risk now for freedom O! Soul
Entreat here, my will unto you.
Earth movers shall find my stuff.
(Buried beneath the backyard tree)