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
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6filching the lolly country thrift helped save
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14they’re kings we’re mammal-cousins hi ho hum
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