1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12Bard I adore your endless monologue
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb
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