1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
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