1The acid tongue with gourmet’s expertise
2his nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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