At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
His nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
Upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
'Ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
Old Galileo's Pisan offerings
Nought can the mouse's timid nibbling stave
The fertile mother changelings drops like kings
As sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
Platonic Greece was not so talentless
Or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
Socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
We'll suffocate before the epilogue
Though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
They're kings we're mammal-cousins hi ho hum