The wild runs

Insist me to curves to arcs With gaunt little moves to wrought One alphabet ‘arf the other In fluent moves of the masters scrawl Bent in edges to keep form With letters wound in a majestic form Once running from start to the stop While in oxford the buff of literature droll Bent like hags scratching to note What word to whence statements formed Head nor tail of it they could sort To Greek or form of gobbledygook Controversy bred to ends of earth About the contours of my felt-tips work Which in late the wild runs they had termed