1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4that suede ferments is not at all well known
5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12Bard I adore your endless monologue
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14the bell tolls fee-less fi-less fo-less fum
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