1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12Southern baroque’s seductive dialogue
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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