THE NATIVE

A language not my own
Speaketh in my Mind
the source seemingly my heart
I cannot Deny it, Blink it I cannot

A foreign tinge
a taste come from without
yet I find it pleasing
much to my surprise
quite palatable to my thoughts

Once I treaded gingerly
Now I stride Boldly
I do not strive to command
My mind gulps
and produces a burp
Whoever fed me this
Fed me a lungful
To speak my mind.




S W. J