1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2his exaltation shocked both youth and crone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4that suede ferments is not at all well known
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10what things we did we went the whole darned hog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
← OPEN dataBase