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
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?
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