1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
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