1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4that suede ferments is not at all well known
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6rejecting ermine to become a knave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8the nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14they’re kings we’re mammal-cousins hi ho hum
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