1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3old corned-beef’s rusty armour spreads disease
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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