1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10what things we did we went the whole darned hog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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