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Personal Note:

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Poem

Forgive me please and don't berate
My dismal voice when I narrate,
The many poems I've written well,
To bring to you my tale to tell.
 
I like to write my thoughts in rhyme
And find I have an easy time,
To form each stanza with a flow;
My words go smoothly to and fro.
 
Then comes the time to say aloud,
The words composed to a small crowd.
My voice will crack with croaks and gasps:
A rusty gate, it swings and rasps.
 
New England twang with words that clip,
Come squirming through my palsied lips.
I envy Brits posh english speech.
Their phonics cannot be impeached.
 
I practice lines a hundred times,
Until they sound just barely fine.
Then try and try and try again,
But still I reach that faltered end.
 
So bare with me in my attempt,
To narrate words in voice unkempt.
I'll forge ahead and not give up,
To spout my spiel and fill your cup.
 
In penning this, yet speaking that;
It's better left where it was at.
On pages written to be read
And not aloud with angst and dread.

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