The Echo
I heard my voice come back to me.
The echo of it yearned to be
free to travel and be heard,
free to echo out each word.
I yelled some sounds and patiently
awaited their return to me.
All was fine until I said
words to turn my face quite red.
Racy words that I'd never say,
words that could be called risque.
When they came back it sounded worse
than if I yelled a blatant curse.
Embarrassed to hear my voice repeat,
I closed my mouth and did retreat
away from the place that echoed me,
praying these words would not be free
to travel anywhere.
poem by Edwina Reizer
Added by Poetry Lover
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