1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3the Turks said just take anything you please
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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