The acid tongue with gourmet's expertise
His nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
Her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
And empty cages show life's bird has flown
O Parthenon you hold the charger's strings
Signalling gauchos very rarely shave
The fertile mother changelings drops like kings
That every verbal shock aims to deprave
Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
With quill white-collared through his life will jog
From cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
Do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
yet from the City's pie pulled not one plum