1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5It’s one of many horrid happenings
6filching the lolly country thrift helped save
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb
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