1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4normal one aims to be and share the throne
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6filching the lolly country thrift helped save
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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