by Richard Vince
Please be gentle: this wears me out.
It does not come naturally; it is not
How my heart and soul were made.
Words often fail to present themselves,
So I have to search, or bluff,
Or stammer my way through,
Hoping I do not stretch patience
To breaking point.
When I talk to you, it isn’t me yet:
It is a temporary attempt to be
Better at this than I really am.
Posted on 09/03/2012
Copyright © 2022 Richard Vince
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by George Hoerner on 09/03/12 at 11:14 PM|
At my age it still doesn't come as easily as one would like. When one is unsure it can be difficult to "open up". But your poem says it well.