From playboy Chance the nymph no longer flees
His nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
He bent right down and well what did he seize
That suede ferments is not at all well known
How it suprised us pale grey underlings
Were pots graffiti'd over by a slave
Such merchandise a melancholy brings
For burning bushes never fish forgave
Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
A bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
Watching manure and compost coalesce
Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
And let you off from your opinions glum
For Europe's glory while Fate's harpies strum