Monday, 14 June 2010

A Tavern grue.

Life is a Tavern, grue, in whose toilet, new,  no poet, true, defecates
(Like the bloating Boer at the banquet who, gloating, waits
Till, at leisure, his own fields, he might entreasure with a dump)
Tho' Art's light freehold lunch, its own Agents gazump

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