1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2his exaltation shocked both youth and crone
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7the learning linguist cameramaniac sings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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