1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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