Prose took the minstrel's verse without a squeeze
When masons clutch the breath we held on loan
He bent right down and well what did he seize
One gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
O Parthenon you hold the charger's strings
Signalling gauchos very rarely shave
He's gone to London how the echo rings
In purest cradels tha's how they behave
Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
A bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
To prove mamma an adult with a tress
Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
Poor reader smile before your lips go numb
A wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb