1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11from cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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