1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7the learning linguist cameramaniac sings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14the best of all things to an end must come
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