1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6rejecting ermine to become a knave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
← OPEN dataBase