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
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone

5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave

9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10what things we did we went the whole darned hog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress

12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb