Wet in the Ground | work in progress

Ankle-deep I wade in the stream of words
Against insinutations I stumble
Matter of fact I feel pity onwards
That you are still damn right I grumble
I'd like to show you my erudition
But, alas, it's beyond my cognition
Stutter in my reply in addition
Will you give me someday your rendition?
But, mind you, my dear, take it easy
Your eyes might fall from your orbits
And the depth of words will not pour away
And I will not be charmed with your merits