1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7the learning linguist cameramaniac sings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb
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