1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2his exaltation shocked both youth and crone
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
← OPEN dataBase