1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2his exaltation shocked both youth and crone
3old corned-beef’s rusty armour spreads disease
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14they’re kings we’re mammal-cousins hi ho hum
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