1At five precisely out went La Marquise
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14the bell tolls fee-less fi-less fo-less fum
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