A Tickling Poem

I wrote this a while ago

I am a jester with wit and a feather.
Though my thoughts get muddled easily together.
For joy is a sound best heard.
Lovelier than any artistic bird.
To bring a smile with a simple touch,
Comedy can only do so much.
The thrill,
To chill,
With a simple quill.
Slow and patient to drag across that tender spot,
While playing a game of cold and hot.
From mild,
To wild,
Fun to be trialed.
Here?
Near?
I see you leer.
Then when it is found,
Feathers and fingers abound.
The chorus will sound,
Joy has been found.
Moments to relish,
The subject to embellish.
Then when joy turns to sorrow,
Only so much laughter to borrow.
Thank them for sharing,
Appreciate them for caring.
Offer a drink,
Even before they blink.
Then a time apart will come.
Dreams of your time with some.
Those moments to treasure,
Of the past's pleasure.
Will be remembered at your leisure.
Now to progress after being refreshed with renew,
Until sometime when someone's laughter must be paid due.
Thank you for allowing my prattle,
Though the words can easily rattle.
If this were attempted to be spoken,
My speech and words easily broken.
I shake,
I quake,
The noises become a mistake.
I speak with a stammer,
Not the boldness of a hammer.
I will one day though,
When my confidence isn't low.
Until then I will try,
with my wit and my voice that is dry.