1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14the bell tolls fee-less fi-less fo-less fum
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