1At five precisely out went La Marquise
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10what things we did we went the whole darned hog
11from cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14the best of all things to an end must come
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