1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4normal one aims to be and share the throne
5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb
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