1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2his exaltation shocked both youth and crone
3old corned-beef’s rusty armour spreads disease
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14they’re kings we’re mammal-cousins hi ho hum
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