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
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14the bell tolls fee-less fi-less fo-less fum
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