1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12Southern baroque’s seductive dialogue
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14they’re kings we’re mammal-cousins hi ho hum
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