1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7the learning linguist cameramaniac sings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
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
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