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
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone

5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave

9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce

12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum