1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3replies like this the dumbstruck brain may tease
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7the learning linguist cameramaniac sings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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