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 empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb
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