1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2his exaltation shocked both youth and crone
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?
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