1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8the nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14they’re kings we’re mammal-cousins hi ho hum
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