1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14soliloquies predict great things old chum
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