1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11from cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
12Bard I adore your endless monologue
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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