1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5Old Galileo’s Pisan offerings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8the nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
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