1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone
5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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