1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3old corned-beef’s rusty armour spreads disease
4that suede ferments is not at all well known
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14the bell tolls fee-less fi-less fo-less fum
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