1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb
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