1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14they’re kings we’re mammal-cousins hi ho hum
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