1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14they’re kings we’re mammal-cousins hi ho hum
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