Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
That horders of crooks felt they'd more right to own
His toga rumpled high above his knees
And empty cages show life's bird has flown
O Parthenon you hold the charger's strings
Rejecting ermine to become a knave
A daring baron pockets precious Mings
The nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
What things we did we went the whole darned hog
On wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
Where no one bothered how one warmed one's bum
Soliloquies predict great things old chum