1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6rejecting ermine to become a knave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14the best of all things to an end must come
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