Box

For where it’s locked up in a box there’s something would be free,

and every fine enigma has a certain sort of key.

The quiet and the darkness and the distance hide what’s there,

but breezes blow the scents around for those who sniff the air.

And though I’ve kept my secret, though I’ve locked it ‘neath the lid,

there’s an open mouth in secrets that would speak and not be hid.

There’s nothing very much to say, and nothing much to hear,

but where’s the mouth in all the world that wouldn’t find an ear?

But if I were a mirror I might see it turned around,

and if you were a bird with wings you might not touch the ground.

It’s a simple little riddle, but don’t answer it too quick;

it’s only light and shadow play that always does the trick!