I'm afraid of a silent stranger.
A Frenchman speaking his langue franche,
his tongue genuine,
settles my unease,
and settles it further
speaking a bit of mine.
If I speak a bit of his,
it lodges in my langue lâche,
my slack tongue;
what mine doesn't do in his,
tabooed as it is,
or is converted by,
the French Language Academy.
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