1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6rejecting ermine to become a knave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?
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