We have a secret, you and I, that no one else shall know,
For who but I can see you lie each night, in fireglow?
And who but I can reach my hand before I go to bed,
And feel the living warmth of you and touch your silken head?
And only I walk woodland paths and see, ahead of me,
Your lithe form racing with the wind, so young again and free.
And only I can see you swim in every brook I pass
And, when I call, no one but I can see the bending grass.
By Beulah Henderson Smith
