The secrets I do not tell even to myself.
Are the same things the Blossoms know
when they proliferate the cherry tree
even as they prepare to fall like confetti.
They are the babbling secrets of the brook
as its waters bounce stunned
into the rocks of the rapids.

Hush! whispers the librarian
As the rows and volumes of books
Keep their dusty secrets in silence
. In the garden The fluted speakers
Of the morning glory Sing only silence

Falling asleep in the nightime quiet.
Just the taunting voices
Of the nocturnal whippoorwill
Never tell!
Never tell!
Never tell -