Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
The bull's horns ought to dry it like a bone
The Turks said just take anything you please
The thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
How it suprised us pale grey underlings
The North Wind Bites into his architrave
They both are right not unformed smatterings
For burning bushes never fish forgave
Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
What things we did we went the whole darned hog
Poor Yorick comes to bury not address
No need to cart such treasures from the fog
And let you off from your opinions glum
And lessors' dates have all too short a sum