From playboy Chance the nymph no longer flees
That horders of crooks felt they'd more right to own
The showman gargles fire and sword with ease
While sharks to let's say potted shrimps are prone
It's one of many horrid happenings
With sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
They both are right not unformed smatterings
Victorious worms grind all into the grave
The peasants's skirts on rainy days she'd tress
Or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
The country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
Bard I adore your endless monologue
Where no one bothered how one warmed one's bum
In cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?