1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14the bell tolls fee-less fi-less fo-less fum
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