1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8the nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12Bard I adore your endless monologue
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
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