1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6filching the lolly country thrift helped save
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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