Prose took the minstrel's verse without a squeeze
Through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
He bent right down and well what did he seize
While sharks to let's say potted shrimps are prone
To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
Filching the lolly country thrift helped save
Proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
Victorious worms grind all into the grave
When dried the terrapin can naught express
With quill white-collared through his life will jog
To prove mamma an adult with a tress
With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
On fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
The bell tolls fee-less fi-less fo-less fum