1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
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
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11from cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
12Southern baroque’s seductive dialogue
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14the best of all things to an end must come
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