He bent right down to pick up his valise
Through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
The understanding critic firstly sees
Which neither time nor tide can long postpone
The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
With sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
An icicle of frozen marrow pings
Till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
The peasants's skirts on rainy days she'd tress
A piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
To prove mamma an adult with a tress
But I can understand you Brogher Gog
Where no one bothered how one warmed one's bum
And lessors' dates have all too short a sum