1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3the Turks said just take anything you please
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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