1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2his exaltation shocked both youth and crone
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4normal one aims to be and share the throne
5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?
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