When one with t'other straightaway agrees
Licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
The showman gargles fire and sword with ease
While sharks to let's say potted shrimps are prone
It's one of many horrid happenings
The North Wind Bites into his architrave
The fertile mother changelings drops like kings
As sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
Platonic Greece was not so talentless
Shallots and sharks'fins face the smould'ring log
While homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
Though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
For Europe's glory while Fate's harpies strum