1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb
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