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
And empty cages show life's bird has flown
The roundabout eats profits made on swings
With sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
The learning linguist cameramaniac sings
Thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
Platonic Greece was not so talentless
Or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
To prove mamma an adult with a tress
Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
Though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
Soliloquies predict great things old chum