He bent right down to pick up his valise
Through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
The showman gargles fire and sword with ease
'Ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
Signalling gauchos very rarely shave
An icicle of frozen marrow pings
For burning bushes never fish forgave
The peasants's skirts on rainy days she'd tress
What things we did we went the whole darned hog
On wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
The Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
And lessors' dates have all too short a sum