There are secrets I could tell, would tell, should tell, but can’t. I could, so easy too, to say, but can’t, can’t say, cause I said I wouldn’t. Dead promises to dead men, but I do fear the dead.
What I can say, what I will say, is that I could say but for that promise. Perhaps you can sherlock it—I hope you do—I think it more just if you do, but I am hindered by my word.
Yet, if you know I know, then begin to ask how I know. I know, you know I know—I’ve told you so now that you’ve guessed—I think you’ll find a clue if you find how I know.
How do I know? Dear friend, that would be telling.
Tale Told 