so here's a tale

hidden at the sad centre of this maze

is something that we do not wish to find

the sort of truth we want to leave behind

to perish in the dark of fallen days

but what we know in all of time's delays

is that the march of pity is not kind

those things that are to memory consigned

will pop back up right into open gaze

visions are true though we may name them lies

and thrust the tale down into oubliette

before a word can honestly be said

we have the art of feigning true surprise

but not the one of counterfeit regret

for that alone we have to earn our bread