1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14the best of all things to an end must come
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