Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
When masons clutch the breath we held on loan
The understanding critic firstly sees
That suede ferments is not at all well known
To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
Nought can the mouse's timid nibbling stave
An icicle of frozen marrow pings
Thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
The genealogist with field and fess
One tongue will do to keep the verse agog
And played their mountain croquet jungle chess
One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
And let you off from your opinions glum
Soliloquies predict great things old chum