Do not open

The hands you trust may turn away,

Replaced with colder forms and guarded eyes;

The truth you held may bend or break,

And shadows creep where you once gazed at open skies.

 

The books you read shall speak of grief,

Of the warfare, desolation, famine, and despair;

Men shall measure your worth in gold,

Bid you labour till your body has naught to spare.

 

Do not open that door, dear child,

Nor imagine the realm beyond it gentle or true;

For once you cross that threshold wide,

The world shall claim the tender heart it bestowed to you.