To lack all intuition is a curse,
And I, alas, am constantly aware
That which is to others plain and bare
Requires me (to notice) to rehearse
A thousand inquiries, to frown and purse
My lips in silent thought and endless care
Until my reason has arrived to where
Others leapt directly. It is worse
When, looking deep into another's eyes
I must instinctively through no instinct
Determine what it is they mean to say;
Pity the moment when I realize
That all I get from them is indistinct
And I am lost and cannot find my way!
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