1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2his exaltation shocked both youth and crone
3replies like this the dumbstruck brain may tease
4that suede ferments is not at all well known
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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