1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6filching the lolly country thrift helped save
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12Southern baroque’s seductive dialogue
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14they’re kings we’re mammal-cousins hi ho hum
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