At five precisely out went La Marquise
The answer is they could be twins full-grown
Forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
With cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
The roundabout eats profits made on swings
Nought can the mouse's timid nibbling stave
Such merchandise a melancholy brings
For burning bushes never fish forgave
The genealogist with field and fess
A bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
Watching manure and compost coalesce
Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
Where no one bothered how one warmed one's bum
The best of all things to an end must come