1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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