He bent right down to pick up his valise
The answer is they could be twins full-grown
Upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
That suede ferments is not at all well known
O Parthenon you hold the charger's strings
The North Wind Bites into his architrave
Th'outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
As sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
The genealogist with field and fess
Or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
On wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
But I can understand you Brogher Gog
On fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
yet from the City's pie pulled not one plum