1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3replies like this the dumbstruck brain may tease
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone

5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave

9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess

12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum