1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2his exaltation shocked both youth and crone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5Old Galileo’s Pisan offerings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
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