1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
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
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
← OPEN dataBase