1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone
5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12Bard I adore your endless monologue
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14they’re kings we’re mammal-cousins hi ho hum
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