1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8the nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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