1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?
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