From playboy Chance the nymph no longer flees
The answer is they could be twins full-grown
The showman gargles fire and sword with ease
And empty cages show life's bird has flown
The roundabout eats profits made on swings
The North Wind Bites into his architrave
In salads all chew grubs before they've wings
Till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
It's no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
Or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
The country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
No need to cart such treasures from the fog
With marble souvenirs then fill a slum
And lessors' dates have all too short a sum