1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10what things we did we went the whole darned hog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
← OPEN dataBase