1The acid tongue with gourmet’s expertise
2through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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