At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
Through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
Her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
Which neither time nor tide can long postpone
The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
Were pots graffiti'd over by a slave
Proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
Till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
What things we did we went the whole darned hog
From cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
Where no one bothered how one warmed one's bum
A wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb