1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14the best of all things to an end must come
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