1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11from cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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