1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14the bell tolls fee-less fi-less fo-less fum
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