In selecting a University course one year, I found that one was named, "Finding A Voice, "How terribly appropriate for a person without one, so I made I one of my courses for that year. Even though at that stage I was learning to talk again with my artificial voice, it is every Laryngectomee’s fervent wish to have a normal human voice once again.

I composed this poem in the medieval Italian Villanelle style, of differing line stanzas, with the two main lines being repeated in a set pattern, very similar to the Medieval French village church Kyrielle liturgys.

To find a voice, the booklet said.
That must be something writers need.
I thought in truth my voice was dead.

So might I find one here instead?
I think a miracle I need.
To find a voice the booklet said.
Should I listen and take heed.
I thought in truth my voice was dead.

Can it come back, once it has sped?
My shackled voice its spirit freed!
To find a voice the booklet said.
Imprisoned, by the hand be led,
soaring freedom with Gods' speed.
I thought in truth my voice was dead.

I prayed as carefully I read,
those pages with all anxious speed.
To find a voice the booklet said.
I thought in truth my voice was dead.