The acid tongue with gourmet's expertise
When masons clutch the breath we held on loan
He bent right down and well what did he seize
And loudly sang off-key without a tone
The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
Whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
The fertile mother changelings drops like kings
Till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
The fasting fakir doesn't smell the less
One tongue will do to keep the verse agog
On wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
No need to cart such treasures from the fog
The Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
Fried grilled black pudding's still the world's best yum