1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4that suede ferments is not at all well known
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11from cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14they’re kings we’re mammal-cousins hi ho hum
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