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
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7the learning linguist cameramaniac sings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14they’re kings we’re mammal-cousins hi ho hum
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