My voice sounds horse,

nay, not from yelling

at my four-teen-year old

free-spirited son, a challenge

to rein in I admit,
or from catching a cold, 

descending like opaque violet

fog in early spring.

I set my voice free....

like a wild mare running 

through city streets, suburbs,
into farmland, past horses - 

with a stallion catching her eye -
over hills, into wilderness.

I set my voice free....  

sang like pouring rain in winter,
like the summer sun in spring.
The passion, joy... of singing
classical songs in French,
German, Italian for hours!

Now, I speak in a pastel,
raspy, bitter-sweet whisper,
like dancing all night and walking
on sore feet in the morning.
I think I should set my voice free
more often.