Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
Licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
The showman gargles fire and sword with ease
One gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
It's one of many horrid happenings
Nought can the mouse's timid nibbling stave
Proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
For burning bushes never fish forgave
The wolf devours both sheep and shepherdess
With gravity at gravity's great cog
From cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
Do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
For Europe's glory while Fate's harpies strum