1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2his nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
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
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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