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
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb
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