The acid tongue with gourmet's expertise
When masons clutch the breath we held on loan
Forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
One gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
And yet 'twas he the beggar Fate just flings
The North Wind Bites into his architrave
An icicle of frozen marrow pings
That every verbal shock aims to deprave
Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can't depress
Shallots and sharks'fins face the smould'ring log
While homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
And let you off from your opinions glum
Soliloquies predict great things old chum