1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4that suede ferments is not at all well known
5It’s one of many horrid happenings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
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