Canto IV

If glancing round, this World is wild,
choose not to kill your inner child,
find what is good within your sight,
create a garden of delight.
The opposite, to learn from ill
and let no deed your cold blood chill;
rehearse the seven deadly sins,
as climbing greasy pole begins.
So often on detecting wiles
the simpleton, he apes, then smiles,
akin to playing Death at chess,
the Master more, the World has less.
And so it is with language games
which hold the World within their frames;
the English English labyrinth
so chains each Nation on its plinth.
The multiplex of inference;
the art of sitting on the fence;
the innuendo's biting dart;
the saying nothing off by heart.
One tries to say this crystal clear,
make accusations, not a smear;
if none the common Word defend
it's far from sure where such might end.