1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone

5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave

9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess

12Bard I adore your endless monologue
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum