Prose took the minstrel's verse without a squeeze
For tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
Upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
That suede ferments is not at all well known
And yet 'twas he the beggar Fate just flings
The North Wind Bites into his architrave
Th'outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
For burning bushes never fish forgave
Platonic Greece was not so talentless
With gravity at gravity's great cog
Watching manure and compost coalesce
Southern baroque's seductive dialogue
The Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
The bell tolls fee-less fi-less fo-less fum