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
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
9The wolf devours both sheep and shepherdess
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14they’re kings we’re mammal-cousins hi ho hum
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