1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4that suede ferments is not at all well known
5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10what things we did we went the whole darned hog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14the best of all things to an end must come
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