1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4normal one aims to be and share the throne
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave
9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11from cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
12Bard I adore your endless monologue
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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