Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
His exaltation shocked both youth and crone
Old corned-beef's rusty armour spreads disease
One gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
With sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
An icicle of frozen marrow pings
Till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
The peasants's skirts on rainy days she'd tress
A piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
Watching manure and compost coalesce
Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
Though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
The bell tolls fee-less fi-less fo-less fum