Modal

In quiet rooms where whispers dwell,
The modal verbs begin to swell –
Can, could, may, might, shall, should, must,
They paint the thoughts we trust and trust.

A child might ask, “May I go out?”
While elders sigh, “You should, no doubt.”
Permission, possibility, duty’s call,
Each shade a hue that lights us all.

Like music’s modes that rise and fall,
From Dorian’s grace to Phrygian’s thrall,
The modal shifts our speech constrains,
A subtle dance in British pains.

So let us linger, speak, and sway,
With modals guiding what we say –
A modest lattice, soft and sound,
Where meaning finds its sturdy ground.