1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8the nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14the best of all things to an end must come
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