1The acid tongue with gourmet’s expertise
2his exaltation shocked both youth and crone
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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