1From playboy Chance the nymph no longer flees
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
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
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14soliloquies predict great things old chum
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