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
5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12Bard I adore your endless monologue
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14soliloquies predict great things old chum
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