Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
The answer is they could be twins full-grown
Upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
With cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
The roundabout eats profits made on swings
When flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
An icicle of frozen marrow pings
In purest cradels tha's how they behave
The wolf devours both sheep and shepherdess
And starve the sniveling baby like a dog
The colonel's still escutcheoned in undress
But I can understand you Brogher Gog
Though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
A wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb