1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14soliloquies predict great things old chum
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