From playboy Chance the nymph no longer flees
Through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
He bent right down and well what did he seize
While sharks to let's say potted shrimps are prone
The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
That metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
Proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
Till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
Shallots and sharks'fins face the smould'ring log
And played their mountain croquet jungle chess
No need to cart such treasures from the fog
On fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
For Europe's glory while Fate's harpies strum