Sur[e]ly teutons were defeated
by hurly-burly true and sturdy,
tune called to their hurdy-gurdy,
'might' to 'might not' soon retreated.
Hate received a fate well meted
by G.I., Tommy, far less wordy,
rising with the early birdy,
not led from bed in bunker heated.
From eagle bunker dark, conceited,
go balls holed by expert birdie,
sonnet couplet scarce absurdy,
syllables sibillant repeated:
Trust, steady rations, puns, fun, custard,
bust heady passions, huns’ guns, mustard.
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