1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2his nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
← OPEN dataBase