1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4that suede ferments is not at all well known
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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