1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14the bell tolls fee-less fi-less fo-less fum
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