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

5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8the nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave

9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce

12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14soliloquies predict great things old chum