1The acid tongue with gourmet’s expertise
2through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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