It’s what I tell myself to get by, my favorite lie
And one I never use but on myself
If said with a sigh, it’s likely I’ll cry
So I smile and draw a cross upon my chest
There may be a time, I hid more in rhyme
But now there’s really only one left
If put in a book, I know you would look
So I hid the only one on my shelf
© Delia Ross. 2019
