1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4normal one aims to be and share the throne
5Old Galileo’s Pisan offerings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14the best of all things to an end must come
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