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.