Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
The bull's horns ought to dry it like a bone
Her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
While sharks to let's say potted shrimps are prone
How it suprised us pale grey underlings
Signalling gauchos very rarely shave
He's gone to London how the echo rings
That every verbal shock aims to deprave
Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can't depress
With gravity at gravity's great cog
Socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
But I can understand you Brogher Gog
With marble souvenirs then fill a slum
For Europe's glory while Fate's harpies strum