Ann has a way that's different, some way. She makes a game of every little thing ... Her suds is just a white-cap on the bay; Her copper kettle has a song to sing; If biscuits burn, it's incense trailing there With fragrant scent, and weaving filmy dreams About her head; she laughs at every care, And always is quite happy, so it seems. When sonny hurts his hand or stubs his toes She says: "Now here's the hospital, I'm nurse." And then she laughs and wrinkles up her nose, And sonny soon gets better, 'stead o' worse! But when she thinks no one will see her, well ... She seems to look away, way off somewhere, And falls into a kind of dreamy spell, And moves her lips like one in silent prayer. |