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
4normal one aims to be and share the throne
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12Bard I adore your endless monologue
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
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