1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3replies like this the dumbstruck brain may tease
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
14the best of all things to an end must come
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