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
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
← OPEN dataBase