1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown

5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave

9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address

12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum