1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3the Turks said just take anything you please
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6filching the lolly country thrift helped save
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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