Prose took the minstrel's verse without a squeeze
His exaltation shocked both youth and crone
The understanding critic firstly sees
That suede ferments is not at all well known
How it suprised us pale grey underlings
Nought can the mouse's timid nibbling stave
The fertile mother changelings drops like kings
That every verbal shock aims to deprave
Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
One tongue will do to keep the verse agog
Poor Yorick comes to bury not address
We'll suffocate before the epilogue
Though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
Fried grilled black pudding's still the world's best yum