1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone

5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave

9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce

12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14soliloquies predict great things old chum