1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7the learning linguist cameramaniac sings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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