He bent right down to pick up his valise
The answer is they could be twins full-grown
His toga rumpled high above his knees
With cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
When flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
They both are right not unformed smatterings
In purest cradels tha's how they behave
The peasants's skirts on rainy days she'd tress
With gravity at gravity's great cog
The colonel's still escutcheoned in undress
Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
Where no one bothered how one warmed one's bum
They're kings we're mammal-cousins hi ho hum