1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb
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