1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4that suede ferments is not at all well known
5It’s one of many horrid happenings
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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