1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7the learning linguist cameramaniac sings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
12Bard I adore your endless monologue
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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