1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5Old Galileo’s Pisan offerings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14the best of all things to an end must come
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