1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?
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