1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14the bell tolls fee-less fi-less fo-less fum
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