Nourishment mature

'Is there anybody there?'
Said the passer-by, knocking on the moon-lit door.
In the shadows, a chariot Cam Aired the fodder on the floor.

Nine numbers young, sport and tough
For after Mallorca, the Catallans jubilate.
A jubilee, fiesta! The compilation of the poise.

By the feet, the board said them stadia
An sacrificial ethereal, and fit and a start.

'Is there anybody there?'
Said the traveler, and ghostly listeners
Knocking their heads on the floor.