At five precisely out went La Marquise
Through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
Her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
The thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
When flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
They both are right not unformed smatterings
Till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
With quill white-collared through his life will jog
The colonel's still escutcheoned in undress
One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
With marble souvenirs then fill a slum
A wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb