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
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5It’s one of many horrid happenings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11from cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb
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