1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2his nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4that suede ferments is not at all well known

5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave

9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess

12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum