1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6rejecting ermine to become a knave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb
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