1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12Bard I adore your endless monologue
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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