He stops mid-trunk with much to say
in taunting reach of dogs below,
perhaps disgruntled by their play
amused at how they move so slow.

These are your words, my words
I took them every one
To heart, to task, to my own purpose
In earnest and in fun

I’ve spoken vows and made confession
I’ve teased my newborn sons
My daughters sing an island song
Their grand-folks never sung

When Alfred set the Danelaw
Or came William from the east
When the plague killed foreign clerics
and promoted peasant speech

Could anyone imagine
Or would anyone have dreamt
This rock-born bloody bastard
Would around the world be sent

I know some French and Spanish
A little Hebrew, and some Greek
I read old verse in Latin
But it’s English that I speak.