1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb
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