She would ask,
Yet to get hurt.
This was the way, it would be.
Where would she put away,
All of her self,
In metal boxes,
Tightly shut
and behind strong lock and key.

She would climb out,
One day, searching.
And climb in, this time,
Never to return.
But the world, the one she looks at,
Has still too much to offer.
Of which, pain is inevitable.

But the box, the metal one,
Is still around.