At five precisely out went La Marquise
Through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
Forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
And loudly sang off-key without a tone
The roundabout eats profits made on swings
With sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
An icicle of frozen marrow pings
As sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
The wolf devours both sheep and shepherdess
With gravity at gravity's great cog
The country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
Poor reader smile before your lips go numb
Fried grilled black pudding's still the world's best yum