The Secret, Part 2

You were so sure I'd wronged you, you'd made me believe

It was surely my fault; but then, how?


All the pages grew soggy and limp with the turning;


There were so many leads, but they all left me burning,


But the smoke didn't spell out an answer; well, now,


Perhaps I could wrangle myself a reprieve:


By myself, I would never be sure in my mind of the secret.

So a year's nearly passed, and by now, I suppose


That a misunderstanding, assumption,


Or outside interference had muddied the wine


And if we could but talk it out, things might be fine,

But it never could happen; I lacked any gumption


And you'd signaled you're angry. Who knows?


It's elusive and hazy, but one day we might find the secret.