1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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