1From playboy Chance the nymph no longer flees
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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