I sit and sneeze and one on-looking
blesses me, though strangers we.
I stand and moan and one my neighbor
looks askance, there is no dance.
I run and cry and one close by
stresses hard, to hide my labor.
Won’t you come and taste my cooking?
Better that, less dangers be
Hid in fry pans than in whispers,
Lost in manners. But in confidence alone
shall we bring the children home.