1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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