1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4that suede ferments is not at all well known

5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave

9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress

12Bard I adore your endless monologue
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum