1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8the nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14soliloquies predict great things old chum
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