1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11from cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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