He bent right down to pick up his valise
His exaltation shocked both youth and crone
Old corned-beef's rusty armour spreads disease
Which neither time nor tide can long postpone
The roundabout eats profits made on swings
Were pots graffiti'd over by a slave
In salads all chew grubs before they've wings
Victorious worms grind all into the grave
The fasting fakir doesn't smell the less
What things we did we went the whole darned hog
On wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
Southern baroque's seductive dialogue
Where no one bothered how one warmed one's bum
The best of all things to an end must come