1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3replies like this the dumbstruck brain may tease
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
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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