1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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