The Dread

The Dread

I dread that I must speak before you now...
The threat that I'll say something wrong is high.
And how can I end with a prideful bow?
I can't begin to talk and I'm thereby
Forced to stand alone before you all
As silence sees my suffering go on.
I'd like to find a cave in which to crawl
Or be a public speaker filled with brawn
But I cannot and I am not, and so
I must say something just to make this stop.
The cards I wrote so carefully don't flow
The way they did when writing them - they're slop.
But still I'm getting through this awful task,
To get through it alive is all I ask.