I fumble with the key, fear what the unlocking might bring; Yet unlock it I must, lest that which is inside dries up and fades, turns to dust. It's been drug through mud, torn, shredded, withered by passion turned to rust. Forsaken by one with less integrity; And so I tucked it away in this box and hid away the key. Yet it must soon be set free - to run, stretch its legs, fulfill its destiny - to love unconditionally, and, in return, be loved. To dance in the rain and thunder, To frolic in fresh air and sun; I swell with pride, delighted in the song my heart has sung. And this heart is like a prism, throwing colors iridescent; much too lovely to entrust to providence. But set it free I must, so I relent. I hover near, enchanted by the siren song I hear; I look to see, and there's my precious heart, stuck, huddled in the underbrush, trembling in agony and fear. I lunge, tug my heart free, not nearly quick enough. I fumble, once again, with the key. In this chest it must remain a season longer; I had myself believing it was made of stronger stuff.