1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14the best of all things to an end must come
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