Myself in Canterbury

A man there was far deep in thought

This land and others he was of not

What a wardrobe had he of cotton and “nylon”

To me they were rags he did but pile on

Religious he was, or tried to be

A man of his word that all could see

A poet man and philosopher too

He may be mad, but at least well-to-do

He traveled on foot, alongside the cook

For food he loved, and there was much he took

A senior in school, for work he did none

He was productive as our Prioress nun

A comical man, he enjoyed a good laugh

This is but a tid-bit, you don’t know the half