1The acid tongue with gourmet’s expertise
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5Old Galileo’s Pisan offerings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14soliloquies predict great things old chum
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