The acid tongue with gourmet's expertise
Since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
Her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
The thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
The North Wind Bites into his architrave
The learning linguist cameramaniac sings
For burning bushes never fish forgave
It's no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
What things we did we went the whole darned hog
The country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
No need to cart such treasures from the fog
Do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
yet from the City's pie pulled not one plum