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
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9The wolf devours both sheep and shepherdess
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?
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