1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3the Turks said just take anything you please
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown

5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave

9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress

12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14the bell tolls fee-less fi-less fo-less fum