1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4that suede ferments is not at all well known
5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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