1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4that suede ferments is not at all well known
5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6filching the lolly country thrift helped save
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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