1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5Old Galileo’s Pisan offerings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb
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