1From playboy Chance the nymph no longer flees
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?
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