1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2his exaltation shocked both youth and crone
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7the learning linguist cameramaniac sings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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