1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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