1The acid tongue with gourmet’s expertise
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6filching the lolly country thrift helped save
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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