1The acid tongue with gourmet’s expertise
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10what things we did we went the whole darned hog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14the best of all things to an end must come
← OPEN dataBase