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
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14they’re kings we’re mammal-cousins hi ho hum
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