1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3the Turks said just take anything you please
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11from cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14soliloquies predict great things old chum
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