Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
When masons clutch the breath we held on loan
The showman gargles fire and sword with ease
With cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
Signalling gauchos very rarely shave
In salads all chew grubs before they've wings
Victorious worms grind all into the grave
The fasting fakir doesn't smell the less
A piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
Socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
We'll suffocate before the epilogue
On fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
A wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb