Prose took the minstrel's verse without a squeeze
His exaltation shocked both youth and crone
Her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
The thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
The roundabout eats profits made on swings
With sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
A daring baron pockets precious Mings
Victorious worms grind all into the grave
Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
One tongue will do to keep the verse agog
While homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
We'll suffocate before the epilogue
On fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
The bell tolls fee-less fi-less fo-less fum