1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11from cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
12Bard I adore your endless monologue
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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