O MY Thirteen pictures are in prison!
0
O
somebody bail them out!
1
I
don’t know what they’ve done poor things, but justice has
arisen
in the shape
of half-a-dozen stout
policemen and arrested them, and hauled them off
to gaol.
O my
Boccaccio, O how goes your pretty tale
locked up in a dungeon cell
with Eve and the Amazon, the
Lizard and the frail
Renascence, all sent to hell
at the whim of six policemen and a magistrate
whose stale
sensibilities hate everything that’s well.