1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5It’s one of many horrid happenings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12Bard I adore your endless monologue
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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