So freely given, gift of once,
So quick to fly from innocence
And purity, now abstract, hunts
For truth, or something close.
So surely taken from one’s lips,
Along with words and confidence
And lies, and fury, love, and quips;
Now withered like a dry rose.
So foolishly we have been taught
To disregard our ‘shoulds’ and ‘oughts’,
For understanding not my thoughts:
You know not what I pose.
So freely given, pure thoughts are wrecked,
So freely sought: a squeamish fleck
From ones lips to yours: a peck;
Now your mind, too much knows.