1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2his exaltation shocked both youth and crone
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14they’re kings we’re mammal-cousins hi ho hum
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