1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9The wolf devours both sheep and shepherdess
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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