1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14they’re kings we’re mammal-cousins hi ho hum
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