1When one with t’other straightaway agrees
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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