1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
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
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb
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