1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10what things we did we went the whole darned hog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
← OPEN dataBase