When one with t'other straightaway agrees
His nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
Upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
One gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
And yet 'twas he the beggar Fate just flings
When flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
The fertile mother changelings drops like kings
As sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
One tongue will do to keep the verse agog
On wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
We'll suffocate before the epilogue
Ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
For Europe's glory while Fate's harpies strum