What I want to say to you,
I've done in so many tongues,
my native one terrified of hope....
Languages at my beck and call,
frivolous reminders that I'm nobody
of importance, except perhaps
when you look at me, when you turn
your faerie eyes my way, I tremble,
consumed by senses I knew not to exist
just yesterday, yet now I find my self-
importance laid waste, I'm just a silly
bard, singing silly rhymes, and then,
and only then, I know I have to sing
my silly verses with respect, for that
is how I want you to hear them