1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
← OPEN dataBase