1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5It’s one of many horrid happenings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14soliloquies predict great things old chum
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