There are thoughts yet hidden,
That I have to search for each day.
Never know what I will find,
But onward the search must go.
Some are not to be written,
As it would upset the ladies fair.
Not as pure as a fair maiden,
Are these thoughts buried there.
Well they were of my younger years,
When the devil had his day.
Now I'm older and wiser, mostly older,
So the hell with the devil and his wiles.
Love ya!
Jane