1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8the nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12Bard I adore your endless monologue
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
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