1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5It’s one of many horrid happenings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14the best of all things to an end must come
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