1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
12Southern baroque’s seductive dialogue
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14they’re kings we’re mammal-cousins hi ho hum
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