At five precisely out went La Marquise
His exaltation shocked both youth and crone
Her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
With cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
They both are right not untamed mutterings
Were pots graffiti'd over by a slave
An icicle of frozen marrow pings
Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave
Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
Shallots and sharks'fins face the smould'ring log
Watching manure and compost coalesce
Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
Where no one bothered how one warmed one's bum
For Europe's glory while Fate's harpies strum