He bent right down to pick up his valise
His nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
Her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
Normal one aims to be and share the throne
The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
The North Wind Bites into his architrave
He's gone to London how the echo rings
For burning bushes never fish forgave
When dried the terrapin can naught express
One tongue will do to keep the verse agog
Poor Yorick comes to bury not address
Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
The Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
A wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb