1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?
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