1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2his exaltation shocked both youth and crone
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb
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