At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
His exaltation shocked both youth and crone
His toga rumpled high above his knees
One gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
The roundabout eats profits made on swings
That metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
The learning linguist cameramaniac sings
The nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
When dried the terrapin can naught express
With quill white-collared through his life will jog
On wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
The Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
The best of all things to an end must come