1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3replies like this the dumbstruck brain may tease
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
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