1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5It’s one of many horrid happenings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb
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