1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14soliloquies predict great things old chum
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