1From playboy Chance the nymph no longer flees
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14soliloquies predict great things old chum
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