Prose took the minstrel's verse without a squeeze
Since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
Replies like this the dumbstruck brain may tease
The thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
Whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
The learning linguist cameramaniac sings
Till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
In indian summers Englishmen drink grog
And played their mountain croquet jungle chess
We'll suffocate before the epilogue
Poor reader smile before your lips go numb
For Europe's glory while Fate's harpies strum