1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12Bard I adore your endless monologue
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
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