At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
His nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
Forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
And empty cages show life's bird has flown
The roundabout eats profits made on swings
Rejecting ermine to become a knave
Such merchandise a melancholy brings
That every verbal shock aims to deprave
Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
What things we did we went the whole darned hog
The colonel's still escutcheoned in undress
But I can understand you Brogher Gog
The Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
The best of all things to an end must come