I speak simple, in everyday speech,
and I reveal dimples, and very straight teeth.
But I write byzantine, like a contortionists limbs
So although congregations feel every line,
Untold complications fill every line.
Twisted like intestines, are my pennings,
And hard to digest, with meanings unending.
Like Punch, I'm well read,
And my words, are well
But one night, while in full flight in the skies of write,
It struck me,
That I could write 'cos I was alive,
And I was alive, 'cos I had arrived
Home that night to meet some...