1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7the learning linguist cameramaniac sings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11from cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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