1The acid tongue with gourmet’s expertise
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb
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