Monday, 4 April 2011

I speak French.

A silly poem about speaking French:

Watch my eyes flicker from bien compris,
to rien compris,
because you just used a word,
of which I've never heard.

And I'll watch yours glaze,
into j'arrive pas haze,
as I confidently conjugate
verbs into a grammatically abused state.

I know 'un étrangère! Génial!'
will soon be 'cet mec la, complètement banal',
when you hear my thick accent,
make the description bilingue seem distant.

So I am forced to stay,
reciting verse in franglais,
making sure you're at least aware,
I know a little vocabulaire.

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