Prose took the minstrel's verse without a squeeze
That horders of crooks felt they'd more right to own
Old corned-beef's rusty armour spreads disease
Which neither time nor tide can long postpone
It's one of many horrid happenings
The North Wind Bites into his architrave
Proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
In purest cradels tha's how they behave
Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
Shallots and sharks'fins face the smould'ring log
Watching manure and compost coalesce
Bard I adore your endless monologue
Poor reader smile before your lips go numb
Soliloquies predict great things old chum