1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5It’s one of many horrid happenings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
9The wolf devours both sheep and shepherdess
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb
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