1The acid tongue with gourmet’s expertise
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4that suede ferments is not at all well known
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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