1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5It’s one of many horrid happenings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb
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