1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3old corned-beef’s rusty armour spreads disease
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb
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