1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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