1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?
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