1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4normal one aims to be and share the throne
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14the best of all things to an end must come
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