1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4that suede ferments is not at all well known
5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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