1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8the nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12Bard I adore your endless monologue
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb
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