Ever does the box sit staring,
holding what she wants the most.
Tempting souls with understanding—
fleeting knowledge, like a ghost.
Behind the keyhole, steeped in darkness,
lurking just beyond her sight,
the yellow box stays locked regardless;
ode to owner’s stubborn spite.
So there it stays, its contents hidden
from the world’s most watchful eyes.
Waiting for the un-forbidden
to wrest from it its precious prize.