1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
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