The acid tongue with gourmet's expertise
The answer is they could be twins full-grown
He bent right down and well what did he seize
The thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
And yet 'twas he the beggar Fate just flings
With sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
He's gone to London how the echo rings
For burning bushes never fish forgave
Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can't depress
Or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
Watching manure and compost coalesce
With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
Poor reader smile before your lips go numb
Soliloquies predict great things old chum