1The acid tongue with gourmet’s expertise
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8the nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb
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