1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4that suede ferments is not at all well known
5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9The wolf devours both sheep and shepherdess
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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