1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?
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