1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone
5Old Galileo’s Pisan offerings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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