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
4normal one aims to be and share the throne
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14soliloquies predict great things old chum
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