1The acid tongue with gourmet’s expertise
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3replies like this the dumbstruck brain may tease
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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