Prose took the minstrel's verse without a squeeze
His nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
The understanding critic firstly sees
'Ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
The roundabout eats profits made on swings
With sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
The fertile mother changelings drops like kings
That every verbal shock aims to deprave
The peasants's skirts on rainy days she'd tress
With gravity at gravity's great cog
The colonel's still escutcheoned in undress
Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
Though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
The bell tolls fee-less fi-less fo-less fum