1The acid tongue with gourmet’s expertise
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3the Turks said just take anything you please
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
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