Prose took the minstrel's verse without a squeeze
That horders of crooks felt they'd more right to own
Her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
And loudly sang off-key without a tone
And yet 'twas he the beggar Fate just flings
When flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
Proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
Victorious worms grind all into the grave
The wolf devours both sheep and shepherdess
Shallots and sharks'fins face the smould'ring log
And played their mountain croquet jungle chess
Southern baroque's seductive dialogue
Ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
A wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb