1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2his exaltation shocked both youth and crone
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4that suede ferments is not at all well known
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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