He bent right down to pick up his valise
The bull's horns ought to dry it like a bone
Forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
Normal one aims to be and share the throne
They both are right not untamed mutterings
The North Wind Bites into his architrave
In salads all chew grubs before they've wings
Till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
The genealogist with field and fess
And starve the sniveling baby like a dog
While homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
No need to cart such treasures from the fog
Poor reader smile before your lips go numb
In cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?