1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown

5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6rejecting ermine to become a knave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave

9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress

12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum