1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4that suede ferments is not at all well known
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9The wolf devours both sheep and shepherdess
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?
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