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
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6filching the lolly country thrift helped save
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?
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