1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10what things we did we went the whole darned hog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14the best of all things to an end must come
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