1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
12Bard I adore your endless monologue
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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