1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12Southern baroque’s seductive dialogue
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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