1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3the Turks said just take anything you please
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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