1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14the bell tolls fee-less fi-less fo-less fum
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