Prose took the minstrel's verse without a squeeze
For tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
The Turks said just take anything you please
And loudly sang off-key without a tone
How it suprised us pale grey underlings
Were pots graffiti'd over by a slave
The fertile mother changelings drops like kings
Till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
A bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
Socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
Bard I adore your endless monologue
Though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
The best of all things to an end must come