1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave
9The wolf devours both sheep and shepherdess
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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