1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6rejecting ermine to become a knave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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