The acid tongue with gourmet's expertise
His nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
Upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
That suede ferments is not at all well known
How it suprised us pale grey underlings
The North Wind Bites into his architrave
They both are right not unformed smatterings
To break a rule Britannia's might might waive
Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
With gravity at gravity's great cog
Watching manure and compost coalesce
Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
With marble souvenirs then fill a slum
Fried grilled black pudding's still the world's best yum