1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2his exaltation shocked both youth and crone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10what things we did we went the whole darned hog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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