1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14the bell tolls fee-less fi-less fo-less fum
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