1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?
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