Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
For tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
Old corned-beef's rusty armour spreads disease
And loudly sang off-key without a tone
The roundabout eats profits made on swings
Whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
The learning linguist cameramaniac sings
That every verbal shock aims to deprave
The peasants's skirts on rainy days she'd tress
In indian summers Englishmen drink grog
While homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
No need to cart such treasures from the fog
Poor reader smile before your lips go numb
A wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb