1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4that suede ferments is not at all well known
5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave
9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14the bell tolls fee-less fi-less fo-less fum
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