1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5It’s one of many horrid happenings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?
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