1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2his exaltation shocked both youth and crone
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?
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