The acid tongue with gourmet's expertise
When masons clutch the breath we held on loan
Old corned-beef's rusty armour spreads disease
With cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
The North Wind Bites into his architrave
The fertile mother changelings drops like kings
The nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
Or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
On wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
We'll suffocate before the epilogue
And let you off from your opinions glum
For Europe's glory while Fate's harpies strum