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
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9The wolf devours both sheep and shepherdess
10what things we did we went the whole darned hog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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