1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14the best of all things to an end must come
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