1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4that suede ferments is not at all well known
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6filching the lolly country thrift helped save
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11from cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14they’re kings we’re mammal-cousins hi ho hum
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