1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11from cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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