You are not churchy, I feel certain of it.
You do not demand a particular hat or coat
Or a room filled with a particular scent.
You do not only like hymns

And if someone laughs you don’t mind.
There is no special kind of poem for you
Or single word to wrap your meanings in
Nor can any category contain you fully.

There is not a box you will not slip out of
Or knot you cannot easily untie,
And that, in a way, is the whole trouble –
There is nothing, hard or soft,
That can restrain you

Although, my goodness, I’ve tried.