1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
3the Turks said just take anything you please
4that suede ferments is not at all well known
5Old Galileo’s Pisan offerings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?
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