1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
← OPEN dataBase