1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2his exaltation shocked both youth and crone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14the bell tolls fee-less fi-less fo-less fum
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