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
With cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
It's one of many horrid happenings
Whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
Proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
The nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
The wolf devours both sheep and shepherdess
In indian summers Englishmen drink grog
The country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
Poor reader smile before your lips go numb
Soliloquies predict great things old chum