1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2his exaltation shocked both youth and crone
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5It’s one of many horrid happenings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14the bell tolls fee-less fi-less fo-less fum
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