1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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