1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5It’s one of many horrid happenings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10what things we did we went the whole darned hog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14they’re kings we’re mammal-cousins hi ho hum
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