1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10what things we did we went the whole darned hog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
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