Prose took the minstrel's verse without a squeeze
For tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
Forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
With cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
The Frisian Isles my friends are cherished things
Nought can the mouse's timid nibbling stave
The fertile mother changeling drops like kings
The nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
The fasting fakir doesn't smell the less
Shallots and sharks' fins face the smould'ring log
The colonel's still escutcheoned in undress
Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
With marble souvenirs then fill a slum
Yet from the City's pie pulled not one plum