In the world where names unfold,
There’s a tale that's often told,
Of Anjola, with a grace so bright,
A name that sparkles like morning light.
But alas, in the maze of letters and sounds,
It slips through tongues where confusion abounds.
“Anjula?” “Angela?” The guesses abound,
With every misstep, my heart starts to pound.
Each roll of the 'A', each dip of the 'N',
I correct with a smile, “Please try once again.”
But “Angela” steps in with persistent cheer,
While “Angelos” rings out like music to my ear.
I bear the misspellings, a curious array,
“Anjolla,” “Anjala,” they lead me astray.
In emails and forms, they twist and they twine,
A name that’s so simple yet tangled in line.
Yet through all the mix-ups, the laughter, the sighs,
I find a soft strength through the clumsy replies.
For names may be tangled, but I know my own worth,
In the dance of the letters, I’ve found my true mirth.
So call me Anjola, let the syllables sing,
In the harmony of chaos, my spirit takes wing.
For though they may stumble, or falter awhile,
Every mispronounced moment sparks forth a smile.