The acid tongue with gourmet's expertise
Since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
The showman gargles fire and sword with ease
One gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
And yet 'twas he the beggar Fate just flings
Whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
Proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
As sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
The wolf devours both sheep and shepherdess
Shallots and sharks'fins face the smould'ring log
On wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
Poor reader smile before your lips go numb
yet from the City's pie pulled not one plum