1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
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 genealogist with field and fess
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12Bard I adore your endless monologue
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
← OPEN dataBase