1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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