1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2his exaltation shocked both youth and crone
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4normal one aims to be and share the throne
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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