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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Dedicated to Emma

Submitted: July 12, 2017

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Submitted: July 12, 2017



How strange it is that I can barely speak

My native tongue without a good translation.

Lacking, the perfect sense will only eke

Out, and does so slow, with much gesticulation.

“Do you catch my meaning?” Perhaps it is you do

And I am not so Special after all,

Nor hold some precious message gummed by glue.

But she, who speaks with me, has heard no drawl

Nor any thing to complicate; nor I

Have heard in her the slightest pause in song,

In comprehension, hardly need to try –

Our words will even soar through solid smog.

Lucky I am, to have myself another

Where each, the one is fluent in the other.

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