From playboy Chance the nymph no longer flees
For tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
His toga rumpled high above his knees
And empty cages show life's bird has flown
The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
That metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
Such merchandise a melancholy brings
The nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
Platonic Greece was not so talentless
With gravity at gravity's great cog
The country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
No need to cart such treasures from the fog
And let you off from your opinions glum
The best of all things to an end must come