1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3old corned-beef’s rusty armour spreads disease
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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