1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5Old Galileo’s Pisan offerings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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