1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10what things we did we went the whole darned hog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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