Shapes of Clay

by Ambrose Bierce

DISCRETION

DISCRETION.

SHE:

I'm told that men have sometimes got
Too confidential, and
Have said to one another what
They--well, you understand.
I hope I don't offend you, sweet,
But are you sure that _you're_ discreet?

HE:

'Tis true, sometimes my friends in wine
Their conquests _do_ recall,
But none can truly say that mine
Are known to him at all.
I never, never talk you o'er--
In truth, I never get the floor.