1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb
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