1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone
5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8the nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11from cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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