1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14they’re kings we’re mammal-cousins hi ho hum
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