1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14soliloquies predict great things old chum
← OPEN dataBase