1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10what things we did we went the whole darned hog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
14they’re kings we’re mammal-cousins hi ho hum
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