He bent right down to pick up his valise
For tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
The Turks said just take anything you please
And loudly sang off-key without a tone
O Parthenon you hold the charger's strings
Signalling gauchos very rarely shave
He's gone to London how the echo rings
As sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
The fasting fakir doesn't smell the less
A bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
Watching manure and compost coalesce
Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
Though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
A wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb