1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2his nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4that suede ferments is not at all well known
5It’s one of many horrid happenings
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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