At five precisely out went La Marquise
That horders of crooks felt they'd more right to own
The Turks said just take anything you please
While sharks to let's say potted shrimps are prone
Old Galileo's Pisan offerings
The North Wind Bites into his architrave
The fertile mother changelings drops like kings
For burning bushes never fish forgave
Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
With gravity at gravity's great cog
While homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
Where no one bothered how one warmed one's bum
yet from the City's pie pulled not one plum