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
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
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