When one with t'other straightaway agrees
Through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
The showman gargles fire and sword with ease
The thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
The roundabout eats profits made on swings
Whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
Such merchandise a melancholy brings
That every verbal shock aims to deprave
The genealogist with field and fess
What things we did we went the whole darned hog
Watching manure and compost coalesce
No need to cart such treasures from the fog
Suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
The best of all things to an end must come