At five precisely out went La Marquise
That horders of crooks felt they'd more right to own
His toga rumpled high above his knees
'Ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
Signalling gauchos very rarely shave
In salads all chew grubs before they've wings
For burning bushes never fish forgave
When dried the terrapin can naught express
One tongue will do to keep the verse agog
Watching manure and compost coalesce
One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
Though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
They're kings we're mammal-cousins hi ho hum