At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
Since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
Forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
With cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
And yet 'twas he the beggar Fate just flings
The North Wind Bites into his architrave
The fertile mother changelings drops like kings
Victorious worms grind all into the grave
Platonic Greece was not so talentless
What things we did we went the whole darned hog
Watching manure and compost coalesce
Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
Suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
Soliloquies predict great things old chum