1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3old corned-beef’s rusty armour spreads disease
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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