1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3replies like this the dumbstruck brain may tease
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7the learning linguist cameramaniac sings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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