1The acid tongue with gourmet’s expertise
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?
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