Prose took the minstrel's verse without a squeeze
The bull's horns ought to dry it like a bone
The Turks said just take anything you please
Normal one aims to be and share the throne
To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
When flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
A daring baron pockets precious Mings
For burning bushes never fish forgave
Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
One tongue will do to keep the verse agog
Watching manure and compost coalesce
No need to cart such treasures from the fog
And let you off from your opinions glum
The best of all things to an end must come