1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2his nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14the best of all things to an end must come
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