Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
For tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
The Turks said just take anything you please
And empty cages show life's bird has flown
It's one of many horrid happenings
Were pots graffiti'd over by a slave
Proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave
Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
In indian summers Englishmen drink grog
Watching manure and compost coalesce
Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
Poor reader smile before your lips go numb
Soliloquies predict great things old chum