1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14they’re kings we’re mammal-cousins hi ho hum
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