1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb
← OPEN dataBase