The flat island floods
for want of a ****;
the land turns to mud,
the landsman alike;
  cursing the robin,
  the jay and the shrike.

There's room in the mushroom
for twice your old rent;
ask any peddler
what money they've spent;
  odds are they collect it,
  but you are exempt.

Black vacuum accumes
our ten thousand joys,
and now I may know
why girls might shun boys;
  ogling their neighbor
  with pittance and noise.

Such trebling rancor
encircles the world,
and now I may know
why boys might fear girls;
  forsaking upbringing
  for glamor and pearls.
  
The wails of the weekend
have reached their apex,
and now they may know
why I chase the ibex;
  stifling a fever
  with cherries and ***.