The acid tongue with gourmet's expertise
His exaltation shocked both youth and crone
Upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
'Ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
They both are right not untamed mutterings
Whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
The fertile mother changelings drops like kings
The nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
The peasants's skirts on rainy days she'd tress
With gravity at gravity's great cog
And played their mountain croquet jungle chess
Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
Suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
Fried grilled black pudding's still the world's best yum