His pillow is purloined from the couch.
Naughty, naughty boy.
The brown bottle bears a fish on the label.
The bitter hops box and dance with John Barleycorn.
The fiddler strikes up while a Yorkshire lass warbles.
In the pealing air, white pelicans wheel under the tower.
Skimming the water, they pump with orange toes.
Bluff and bold, big Johnny limps to the tower.