1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2his exaltation shocked both youth and crone
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12Bard I adore your endless monologue
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14they’re kings we’re mammal-cousins hi ho hum
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