My voice grows thin and wan
like flower buds surviving,
pale green, too pale to stay.
When will the sound beat upwards to the sun?
Not speaking/ merely words -
singing with the tulips,
Humming like the bees in spring,
Capella, Forte, I want to sound like the roses
who belt and  weave the most robust of songs.

When will I **** out this disastrous black thumb choking out my arias
every last one.