I'm an educated man, not academic, but in life
knowing words with more meaning than most
and can write them all down, both by line and by verse
and in context, know how to orate them.

But by smoking too much, my voice now is hoarse
and no more than a whisper can speak
but the voice it still flows, from heart to the pen
so nestle close, and to you, let me read them.

Now poetry is penned, should be spoken not read
but my plight, it suits me just fine
for to hear me speak these words to you
so close must you always remain.

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