1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4that suede ferments is not at all well known

5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave

9The wolf devours both sheep and shepherdess
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess

12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?