It seems that each time I climb my own Pulpit
Hoping with my Values you could soon know
These Arrows stab me; Some prick my habit
Whilst others painfully stub my Big Toe
I suppose, that even if I Intercede
Which by the way un-crossed from my Contract
Would such Fence stand still; Yet I supercede
Beyond my Instructions I would extract
Apart from your Blood. Yet such Energy bleed
Checking my Virtues to your Good Effect
If at least Fail my own Ripe Moral's need
Must then tune your Future to your best Aspect.
Though Foreign am I, my Message give Hope
Could your Heart brush Wax; And your Mind feign Dope.