Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
The bull's horns ought to dry it like a bone
The understanding critic firstly sees
Normal one aims to be and share the throne
They both are right not untamed mutterings
With sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
The fertile mother changelings drops like kings
To break a rule Britannia's might might waive
The wolf devours both sheep and shepherdess
With gravity at gravity's great cog
The country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
We'll suffocate before the epilogue
The Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
In cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?