Preface

I wrote of Quirework, with its aid, this book.
Confession, or a demonstration? Which,
I can’t decide. I know how that must look.
It has no view on sentences. Its pitch:

It keeps a list of what the book must bear,
Then reads the chapters, flags what won’t agree.
It warned me several times. The faults were there.
I fixed most faults it pointed out to me.

If chapters clash, you’ve found a thing it missed.
I’d like to hear, though less than you’d suppose.
Each name is changed, and all that earned a twist
Has been exaggerated in the prose.

The rest is of a different book, and too
Of what, instead of finishing, I’d do.