1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2his exaltation shocked both youth and crone
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
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