1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14they’re kings we’re mammal-cousins hi ho hum
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