1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4normal one aims to be and share the throne

5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave

9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11from cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness

12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb