1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7the learning linguist cameramaniac sings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
← OPEN dataBase