1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3the Turks said just take anything you please
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7the learning linguist cameramaniac sings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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