1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
← OPEN dataBase