1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
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