1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave
9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14the best of all things to an end must come
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