1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14the best of all things to an end must come
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