1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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