1When one with t’other straightaway agrees
2his nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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