1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3old corned-beef’s rusty armour spreads disease
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9The wolf devours both sheep and shepherdess
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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