1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2his nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4normal one aims to be and share the throne
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
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