1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8the nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?
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