On the delicacy of my way of speaking,

Well, can I talk about? My English is so hard,

Alas, to listen to! All the words that a bird

Should’ve sung better than me are only pikes leaping.

M’English sounds so much strange I can’t talk about it.

Only words bombing the ears of my fellow natives,

Syllables breaking’em like with the doors the thieves,

Vowels and consonants sounds like the sorrow pit.

‘Ready I am weakened by this quite good accent

I hear from Canadians, and by th’English brilliance.

I am just so French, guy, between you’n’me a fence

Of water, a riming wave and a channel of Dante.