1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5Old Galileo’s Pisan offerings
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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