1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7the learning linguist cameramaniac sings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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