1The acid tongue with gourmet’s expertise
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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