He bent right down to pick up his valise
Through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
His toga rumpled high above his knees
That suede ferments is not at all well known
Old Galileo's Pisan offerings
The North Wind Bites into his architrave
Such merchandise a melancholy brings
In purest cradels tha's how they behave
Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
Or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
The country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
With marble souvenirs then fill a slum
In cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?