At five precisely out went La Marquise
The bull's horns ought to dry it like a bone
The showman gargles fire and sword with ease
Normal one aims to be and share the throne
And yet 'twas he the beggar Fate just flings
Filching the lolly country thrift helped save
They both are right not unformed smatterings
As sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
The genealogist with field and fess
With gravity at gravity's great cog
The country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
Though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
The best of all things to an end must come