Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
When masons clutch the breath we held on loan
The showman gargles fire and sword with ease
With cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
How it suprised us pale grey underlings
Were pots graffiti'd over by a slave
An icicle of frozen marrow pings
Victorious worms grind all into the grave
Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can't depress
With quill white-collared through his life will jog
The colonel's still escutcheoned in undress
Southern baroque's seductive dialogue
The Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
For Europe's glory while Fate's harpies strum