1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14soliloquies predict great things old chum
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