Today I lunched on a silver piccolo
and octaves in D bubbled up in a stream.
Pausing only to warble a burp, I wolfed
down the pieces of an unfinished jigsaw
of a mountainous Lake Titicaca scene;
and crunched a model of the Flying Scotsman
in its fabled livery of Lincoln green;
but then my rumbling appendix protested,
so I had no room for a roly-poly
of a Partick Thistle Subbuteo team.