1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4that suede ferments is not at all well known
5Old Galileo’s Pisan offerings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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