He bent right down to pick up his valise
The bull's horns ought to dry it like a bone
The Turks said just take anything you please
That suede ferments is not at all well known
O Parthenon you hold the charger's strings
Nought can the mouse's timid nibbling stave
Such merchandise a melancholy brings
For burning bushes never fish forgave
Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
With gravity at gravity's great cog
And played their mountain croquet jungle chess
Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
Do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
They're kings we're mammal-cousins hi ho hum