Prose took the minstrel's verse without a squeeze
For tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
The understanding critic firstly sees
The thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
The roundabout eats profits made on swings
Whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
In salads all chew grubs before they've wings
In purest cradels tha's how they behave
The fasting fakir doesn't smell the less
With gravity at gravity's great cog
Watching manure and compost coalesce
Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
Though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
Soliloquies predict great things old chum