1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6filching the lolly country thrift helped save
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?
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