1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4normal one aims to be and share the throne
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14the best of all things to an end must come
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