He bent right down to pick up his valise
His exaltation shocked both youth and crone
Upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
While sharks to let's say potted shrimps are prone
And yet 'twas he the beggar Fate just flings
Signalling gauchos very rarely shave
In salads all chew grubs before they've wings
That every verbal shock aims to deprave
The genealogist with field and fess
What things we did we went the whole darned hog
From cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
But I can understand you Brogher Gog
Where no one bothered how one warmed one's bum
The best of all things to an end must come