1The acid tongue with gourmet’s expertise
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone

5It’s one of many horrid happenings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave

9The genealogist with field and fess
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess

12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum