He bent right down to pick up his valise
His exaltation shocked both youth and crone
The showman gargles fire and sword with ease
The thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
How it suprised us pale grey underlings
The North Wind Bites into his architrave
In salads all chew grubs before they've wings
As sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
It's no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
With quill white-collared through his life will jog
Watching manure and compost coalesce
But I can understand you Brogher Gog
And let you off from your opinions glum
A wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb