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
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?
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