Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
For tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
Forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
'Ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
With sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
The fertile mother changelings drops like kings
Thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
The wolf devours both sheep and shepherdess
With gravity at gravity's great cog
From cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
We'll suffocate before the epilogue
Poor reader smile before your lips go numb
Fried grilled black pudding's still the world's best yum