Imprisoned In A Cage Of Sound, Even

I Ought To Warn You That My Verse Is Of No Interest To People Who Can Think.

A Whispering And Watery Norfolk Sound Telling Of All The Moonlit Reeds Around.

And I Think It Was The Outline Of That Church Tower At Belaugh Against The Sky Which Gave Me A Passion For Churches So That Every Church I've Past Since I've Wanted To Stop And Look In.

Oh Wasn't It Naughty Of Smudges? Oh, Mummy, I'm Sick With Disgust. She Threww Me In Front Of The Judges, And My Silly Old Collar-bone's Bust.

Hymns Are The Poetry Of The People.