1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3old corned-beef’s rusty armour spreads disease
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb
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