There are Monday morningsfollowing every escape,shadows behind turned backs,whispers behind closed doors.
There are footprints leadingaway from joyous occasions,fogs lifting from melting ice,ragged blooms in mud season.
There are memories wound tightin skeins of regret.There are things we keptsecret after all.
Kerry asked the Real Toads to complete and use in a poem this line: "There are things we kept secret after..."