1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4normal one aims to be and share the throne
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14the best of all things to an end must come
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