At five precisely out went La Marquise
His exaltation shocked both youth and crone
His toga rumpled high above his knees
'Ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
With sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
The fertile mother changelings drops like kings
That every verbal shock aims to deprave
Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
Shallots and sharks'fins face the smould'ring log
From cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
Where no one bothered how one warmed one's bum
yet from the City's pie pulled not one plum