At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
When masons clutch the breath we held on loan
The understanding critic firstly sees
And empty cages show life's bird has flown
Old Galileo's Pisan offerings
The North Wind Bites into his architrave
The fertile mother changelings drops like kings
Thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
When dried the terrapin can naught express
Or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
To prove mamma an adult with a tress
With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
Suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
They're kings we're mammal-cousins hi ho hum