1The acid tongue with gourmet’s expertise
2his exaltation shocked both youth and crone
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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