From playboy Chance the nymph no longer flees
When masons clutch the breath we held on loan
The showman gargles fire and sword with ease
And loudly sang off-key without a tone
They both are right not untamed mutterings
Rejecting ermine to become a knave
In salads all chew grubs before they've wings
Thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
In indian summers Englishmen drink grog
Watching manure and compost coalesce
Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
Poor reader smile before your lips go numb
The best of all things to an end must come