1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3the Turks said just take anything you please
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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