Somewhere Between a Tenor and a Frog

Her voice is not melodious

or dripping sweet, like honey,

Nor is it high and squeaky

Not giggly and funny.

It isn’t Gravel Gertie

or boisterous and raw.

Not even low and sexy

Just mostly kinda’ blah-

She cannot carry any tune

Even in a lidded pail.

Her pitiful attempts sound

Like a painful wail.

Her children, bless their hearts

Are surely maladjusted.

From lullabies she sang to them

Her vocal chords sound rusted.

These children, now, do tease her

With offers of a dollar

Not to join in birthday singing

A ‘tenor frog’ they call her.

This tale of woe I tell you

Is really very true.

So do not beg she demonstrate

It would even frighten you.

May B. Winkel ©2003