From playboy Chance the nymph no longer flees
Licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
Forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
While sharks to let's say potted shrimps are prone
It's one of many horrid happenings
When flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
Proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
As sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
And starve the sniveling baby like a dog
While homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
And let you off from your opinions glum
They're kings we're mammal-cousins hi ho hum