Where do you hide, oh fragile one,
When anger strikes or laughs pierce deep;
When inner doubts return to haunt
Or when eyes close that promise sleep?
Where are the halls through which you tread?
Does light shine through the windows there,
Or are your days in darkness bathed,
Rooms warm and snug or cold and bare?
Is there a garden neat and trim
Or do the weeds and brambles climb?
Do scents of blossom fill the air
Or odors of decaying time?
If I could only follow you
Into that secret inner place,
Would I then find a stranger there
Or still the one my arms embrace?
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