1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4that suede ferments is not at all well known
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9The wolf devours both sheep and shepherdess
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14they’re kings we’re mammal-cousins hi ho hum
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