1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone
5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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