1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone

5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave

9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11watching manure and compost coalesce

12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14the best of all things to an end must come