Under cover of darkness
            And the watchful eye of the law,
Pockets of individuality came,
Each absorbed in their own fashion
            Percolated from every fabric of society.
There we waited,
            In an uneasy simmering mix,
To divest ourselves
            Of our lifelong

A secret we are born with,
            And carry to our graves;
A shame we are burdened with
            By those we first burdened
            With teaching us to conceal it
            Within colourful layers
                         Of deception and pretence;
A secret shrouded in myth,
            Unless unveiled in glamorous legend
                         (Which true life cannot be);
A shame reinforced by Church and State,
            And their many constituent bodies;
A secret, nevertheless
                         (therefore?),
            We dared to share, and,
                         As the light began to dawn,
A shame

           We did not have.

Yes, then we learnt each other's secret,
            And thus our own at last:—
Which is,
            There is no secret,
As far as we could see.
Or, rather,
            That the secret was
The sameness of our secret
                              (The inherent beauty in our common humanity 
                                                  Revealed all).

          (Brrr!
                      That breeze of cold truth
                      Sure leaves one feeling vulnerable and 
                                                                                 exposed.
          Oh well,
                      It will soon be redressed
          With layers of warm deception.)

No wonder the secret must be kept.