Okay, this one's a little better than yesterday's. I do like a sonnet here and there. It's old-fashioned, but so be it.;p
Accents
(Elizabethan Sonnet)
I always craved an accent of my own
A voice that said I came from somewhere real
A place of hoary words and ancient stone
Where tales would flow and mossy bells would peal.
The words would fall like gentle, lilting leaves
And each would be a gift from voices past
Old songs and words would ring down from the eaves
And I would know my secret name at last
Instead, my voice is flat and harsh as ice
As gray as Erie's endless shallow waves
The nasal tones that only would suffice
In the nowhere that I find my fathers' graves
My real voice sings of nearby country lanes
And the factories, farms, and Yankees in my veins.
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