1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4that suede ferments is not at all well known
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7the learning linguist cameramaniac sings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12Bard I adore your endless monologue
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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