1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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