1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11from cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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