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 - -