1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone

5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave

9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10what things we did we went the whole darned hog
11watching manure and compost coalesce

12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum