1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4normal one aims to be and share the throne
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14the best of all things to an end must come
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