1The acid tongue with gourmet’s expertise
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6rejecting ermine to become a knave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?
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