1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?
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