1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4normal one aims to be and share the throne

5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6filching the lolly country thrift helped save
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave

9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess

12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb