1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
14they’re kings we’re mammal-cousins hi ho hum
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