1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
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 piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
← OPEN dataBase