From playboy Chance the nymph no longer flees
For tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
He bent right down and well what did he seize
'Ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
The roundabout eats profits made on swings
Whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
Proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
That every verbal shock aims to deprave
The peasants's skirts on rainy days she'd tress
One tongue will do to keep the verse agog
While homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
Though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
A wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb