He bent right down to pick up his valise
The answer is they could be twins full-grown
The showman gargles fire and sword with ease
One gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
Rejecting ermine to become a knave
An icicle of frozen marrow pings
For burning bushes never fish forgave
Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
What things we did we went the whole darned hog
And played their mountain croquet jungle chess
With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
And let you off from your opinions glum
And lessors' dates have all too short a sum