1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4that suede ferments is not at all well known
5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14the best of all things to an end must come
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