Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
The answer is they could be twins full-grown
His toga rumpled high above his knees
That suede ferments is not at all well known
How it suprised us pale grey underlings
That metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
An icicle of frozen marrow pings
Thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
The wolf devours both sheep and shepherdess
A piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
Watching manure and compost coalesce
Bard I adore your endless monologue
Though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
The best of all things to an end must come