1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11from cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14the bell tolls fee-less fi-less fo-less fum
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