1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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