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
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
← OPEN dataBase