He bent right down to pick up his valise
His nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
Upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
While sharks to let's say potted shrimps are prone
O Parthenon you hold the charger's strings
Were pots graffiti'd over by a slave
In salads all chew grubs before they've wings
For burning bushes never fish forgave
It's no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
In indian summers Englishmen drink grog
The country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
Southern baroque's seductive dialogue
With marble souvenirs then fill a slum
In cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?