1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2his exaltation shocked both youth and crone
3old corned-beef’s rusty armour spreads disease
4that suede ferments is not at all well known
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6rejecting ermine to become a knave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14soliloquies predict great things old chum
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