1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14soliloquies predict great things old chum
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