1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb
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