Prose took the minstrel's verse without a squeeze
The bull's horns ought to dry it like a bone
His toga rumpled high above his knees
And empty cages show life's bird has flown
To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
That metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
In salads all chew grubs before they've wings
Thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
And starve the sniveling baby like a dog
To prove mamma an adult with a tress
But I can understand you Brogher Gog
The Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
They're kings we're mammal-cousins hi ho hum