1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb
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