Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
The answer is they could be twins full-grown
The understanding critic firstly sees
With cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
The roundabout eats profits made on swings
Whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
In salads all chew grubs before they've wings
Victorious worms grind all into the grave
The wolf devours both sheep and shepherdess
In indian summers Englishmen drink grog
To prove mamma an adult with a tress
No need to cart such treasures from the fog
Though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
The bell tolls fee-less fi-less fo-less fum