1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4normal one aims to be and share the throne
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14the best of all things to an end must come
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