1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5Old Galileo’s Pisan offerings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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