1The acid tongue with gourmet’s expertise
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
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
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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