From playboy Chance the nymph no longer flees
For tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
Upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
Normal one aims to be and share the throne
The roundabout eats profits made on swings
Rejecting ermine to become a knave
The fertile mother changelings drops like kings
Victorious worms grind all into the grave
Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
Or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
Watching manure and compost coalesce
Bard I adore your endless monologue
Do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
They're kings we're mammal-cousins hi ho hum