1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3the Turks said just take anything you please
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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