1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
12Bard I adore your endless monologue
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
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