1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
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