1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
3replies like this the dumbstruck brain may tease
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb
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