Prose took the minstrel's verse without a squeeze
The bull's horns ought to dry it like a bone
Forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
Normal one aims to be and share the throne
Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
The North Wind Bites into his architrave
They both are right not unformed smatterings
The nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
The peasants's skirts on rainy days she'd tress
Or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
Socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
Poor reader smile before your lips go numb
Soliloquies predict great things old chum