Prose took the minstrel's verse without a squeeze
The answer is they could be twins full-grown
Forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
'Ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
How it suprised us pale grey underlings
Whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
They both are right not unformed smatterings
Thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
With quill white-collared through his life will jog
While homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
Suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
And lessors' dates have all too short a sum