1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5It’s one of many horrid happenings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
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