Causa Que

Clearly I am too forward with my tongue
Which pushes where it is not meant to go;
I cannot claim it is because I'm young,
That all my wisdom still is left to grow.
Instead the babbling my mouth exhales
Is my own fault, in calm, mature decision,
And so its overeagerness, which always pales
Before more sober judgment, its misprision,
Are all my fault and so must be admitted.
And I will do so freely: I'm a fool.
But though I am, I am not so dimwitted
As not to practice folly by the rule:
I am a fool for you, no other causes
This bubbly babbling and awkward pauses.