All for my tea

He was only a piano tuner,but he was more than a forked man to me.
He was always very tendentious but I forgave him it all for my tea.
He had hands like a pair of mittens;there were pegs where his fingers should be.
He was only a working class hero,but at least he was an other to me.
He was like a Requiem after a Concerto; would he have accepted a plea?
He became a good therapist manque but he was far better than Freud was re his fee.
He was merely a dry land sailor,except when he went out to sea.
He wanted a ukelele but I preferred toast and hot tea.
He said he was an agent, double….but all he became was a pharisee.
He was neither fish not serpent;Thomas Cromwell he was not,not he!