1The acid tongue with gourmet’s expertise
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
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
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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