1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2his exaltation shocked both youth and crone
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6rejecting ermine to become a knave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14soliloquies predict great things old chum
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