1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone
5It’s one of many horrid happenings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?
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