1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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