1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5Old Galileo’s Pisan offerings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
← OPEN dataBase