1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10what things we did we went the whole darned hog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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