Isaac, Honorbeary, Tally, Ferdy, Blanky

An orderly posture I had hoped to see

of the other languages I learn

they resided in the outer skirts

of this English middle-earth.

But the written word does not sleep,

and indeed the spoken often dances

and prances

and chances

and glances

and enhances

itself.

As I grasp to choke a foreign language in submission

it gasps for air and breaks from my hold

and scolds:

"What of mine? that cave which you relentlessly treasure?

What of they? all that you behold and refer to under the sun?

And night? a dark veil keeping watch over all those sleeping?

And light? which unrestrains every man and eases every activity?"

And I felt my hand melt

Like plastic, it did melt

A great blow dealt

Ashamed I felt

I believe to have learned, nay, accepted:

All the tense tension of the tenses,

The fickle pickle that is the variation of sentences

If "fine" shall be a blessing and a penalty, so be it

If I shall be determined to be myself or my sight, so be it

The twist and turns of English leave

no excuse for me to grieve

the many assaults and batteries

of German, of Latin, of Mandarin Chinese

My tongue and teeth shall laboriously dance

until it knows ballet and ballroom

popping, locking, and hip hop

Though this be method, there is a madness in't.