He bent right down to pick up his valise
That horders of crooks felt they'd more right to own
Old corned-beef's rusty armour spreads disease
That suede ferments is not at all well known
And yet 'twas he the beggar Fate just flings
Signalling gauchos very rarely shave
An icicle of frozen marrow pings
Thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
The peasants's skirts on rainy days she'd tress
And starve the sniveling baby like a dog
To prove mamma an adult with a tress
Southern baroque's seductive dialogue
Poor reader smile before your lips go numb
For Europe's glory while Fate's harpies strum