1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown

5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave

9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess

12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14they’re kings we’re mammal-cousins hi ho hum