1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2his nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5It’s one of many horrid happenings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb
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