1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2his exaltation shocked both youth and crone
3old corned-beef’s rusty armour spreads disease
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14the bell tolls fee-less fi-less fo-less fum
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