I’m becoming a civilised old chap
under the tutelage of my old pal – chum, Mr Theo Sauri
His face – countenance is grey – griseous with contempt
for the whims – vagaries of my tongue
to which he does suppose
‘The words of the devil were spawned’
I articulated to the best of my ability that I am not one to be bedevilled
to which scorn was his adequate response
though he held his tongue Thank God
for I could read in his mien, mercurial shades of distaste
standing before me, a crimson cardinal.

I bowed my reverence and thanked him thusly
for cultivating me from weed to rose
and thus I forthwith blush with prose.