1From playboy Chance the nymph no longer flees
2through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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