1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
← OPEN dataBase