1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2his exaltation shocked both youth and crone
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone

5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave

9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11from cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness

12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum