1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2his nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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