In circles where the eager tongues may stray,
a secret spreads its wings and takes to flight
with every careless word that slips away -
a truth laid bare and ripped into the light.

What right have you to flay these fragile dreams,
to trade in trust for just this fleeting thrill?
Like moths drawn near to flickering extremes,
you revel in the tea you've come to spill.

The silence guards one's heart like ancient stone,
and whispers hushed are treasures not for sale;
what bonds we forge in quietude - alone -
are shredded by the gossip's fickle gale.

So pause, ye mouths, before your voice takes wing -
such secrets want the song that silence sings.

Penned by my hand on the 13th of Phaestian, in the year 1001 AF.