1The acid tongue with gourmet’s expertise
2his nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10what things we did we went the whole darned hog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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