Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
His exaltation shocked both youth and crone
Her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
And empty cages show life's bird has flown
The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
Nought can the mouse's timid nibbling stave
Th'outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
The nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
In indian summers Englishmen drink grog
Watching manure and compost coalesce
With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
Do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
And lessors' dates have all too short a sum