At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
His exaltation shocked both youth and crone
He bent right down and well what did he seize
The thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
It's one of many horrid happenings
The North Wind Bites into his architrave
Proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
For burning bushes never fish forgave
Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
Or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
And played their mountain croquet jungle chess
One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
The Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
And lessors' dates have all too short a sum