When one with t'other straightaway agrees
That horders of crooks felt they'd more right to own
Forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
That suede ferments is not at all well known
O Parthenon you hold the charger's strings
When flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
An icicle of frozen marrow pings
As sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
The genealogist with field and fess
With quill white-collared through his life will jog
The colonel's still escutcheoned in undress
Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
The Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
In cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?